Everything to Lose
by fractured-fairytale06
Summary: Ziva is kidnapped while undercover investigating a drug dealer who kills his clients, and everyone tells Tony that she left on her own. He won't take no for an answer, but will it be enough to save her? TIVA
1. Back to Normal

**Author's Note:**

**This is my first attempt at an NCIS fanfic, so please let me know what you think!**

**I set this after Agent Afloat, and I gave it a higher rating because the language is kind of coarse and (obviously) the drug use.**

**P.S.—Yay! The team's back together! (Even if Tony and Ziva's reunion wasn't what I was hoping it would be.) **

**Hey, we can't get everything we want. Including this show. You know, because it's totally not mine.**

Chapter One

"Back to Normal"

Derek Connelly sat, sipping his whiskey and enjoying it more than he probably should while an old disco song played obnoxiously from the jukebox. He was contemplating leaving—going back to his apartment, as empty as Michelle had left it—before one of his favorite songs rang out into the crowded bar. He shrugged, took another long pull from his whiskey, and took the song philosophically; a few more minutes wouldn't kill him.

Sparing a few barely interested glances at the short skirts that passed by, he almost didn't notice another man approach his table. When he did notice, he sent the man a curious glance followed by a look that said quite clearly, _Leave me alone._

"Great place, right?" the man asked, leaning his forearm on the table. Dark hair fell in front of his face and he absently brushed it away.

"Sure," he said gruffly, unwilling to hold up any conversation the stranger was willing to start.

"I'm not much of a drinker myself," he said, nodding his head in the direction of the bar glass on the table. "Takes too long."

His interest effectively peaked, Derek briefly nodded his head. "What do you mean?"

"You have to drink glass after the glass of the stuff," the man elaborated. "And by the time you're actually drunk, you're puking your toenails up or too wasted to enjoy it." The man continued when Derek neglected to reply. "I go for the harder stuff myself."

"And by harder, you mean?" he ventured, half expecting the small white baggy the man pulled out of his jacket.

"A line or two of this, and you're fucking Superman," the man whispered under his breath, looking to see if anyone happened to have picked up on their conversation. With the music as loud as it was, Derek doubted it would be an issue.

"How much?" he asked, apathetic of the drug's consequences.

"This?" the man asked. When Derek nodded, he shook his head. "Not a damn thing. Call it a free sample. I'll be around if you decide you've got a taste for it."

Derek took the bag and discreetly tucked it into the pocket of his Navy whites. He downed the rest of his whiskey and threw a tip carelessly on the table.

"Mazel tov," the man called to Derek over his shoulder as he exited the bar.

--

An hour later, he was sitting at his coffee table with the bag of white powder sitting ominously in his hand. He stared at it, unsure of what exactly he was thinking when he took it out of the bar. He missed Michelle, sure, but enough to jeopardize his career? Hell, it was because of his career that she left him. She couldn't take the fucking worry. Two years and—almost—an engagement, and _now _she can't take the worry.

Well, he didn't have to worry about that anymore. He didn't have to worry about _her _anymore. Drunk, depressed, and determined, Derek opened the baggy to pour it out onto his glass coffee table. Doing his best to imitate the millions of times he'd seen Pulp Fiction, he separated the drug into thin lines and pressed his nose to the glass without a moment's hesitation. He inhaled, traveling down the line with one steady intake of breath. The powder stung his nose but he continued, waiting for the burn to take away the lingering smell of Michelle's perfume in the air.

He finished the better part of the three lines when his hand started shaking. Shrugging off the small tremor as part of the effect of the drug, he leaned back on the couch and waited for it to kick in. He worked his way through every memory of his ex-girlfriend, starting with the night they met.

He was remembering the look on her face when she walked out the door when the first seizure racked his body. Shaking uncontrollably, he clenched his jaw and jerked until he fell to the floor. He was painfully aware of his limbs flailing and hitting the table and the floor at odd angles, leaving contusions that wouldn't have the chance to swell. A heavy weight descended on his chest and his lungs ceased to function, leaving his brain and body screaming for air that wouldn't come.

He died wondering if this was what being Superman felt like.

--

"Another overdose, Ducky?" Ziva asked, taking a photo of the paraphernalia still lying on the sailor's glass coffee table. Her aim was off; it had been a few months since she'd taken crime scene photos. More than that, it had only been two weeks since she'd come back to the States. Only two weeks since she'd been home.

"It appears so, my dear," the medical examiner said, shaking his head. He eyed the traces of white powder on the table. "I suspect we will find cyanide in this, as well." He looked around the room. "As soon as Mr. Palmer gets here with the damned truck, we'll have the young man back to autopsy."

"This makes two dead," McGee offered a little absently, scanning the items of the deceased's bookshelves. He expertly suppressed a grin at finding his own novels. "How are the other two doing?"

"Still comatose, I'm afraid," Ducky said, taking the liver temperature of the victim to decide time of death. "With the amount of cyanide in their systems, it's a wonder they survived at all. Although, it is extremely unlikely that they'll ever wake up."

"Then we won't get the luxury of a witness, will we, Duck?" Gibbs asked in rapid-fire, entering the room and instantly filling it with his air of authority and the strong smell of his coffee. "What do we have?"

"I would estimate that the young man has been deceased just less than two days," Ducky said to his friend of many years. "Apparent drug overdose, but I'm willing to wager that cyanide poisoning will be the official finding."

"McGee?"

"Seaman Derek Connelly," McGee recited, pulling from memory the information he'd been collecting the last few minutes. "Twenty-three years old, lives alone."

"Only recently," Gibbs added almost under his breath.

"What makes you say that, boss?" McGee asked, pausing in his duties to watch their leader.

"Some of the furniture's gone," he said, pointing to the indentions in the carpet. Most of the bookshelf is empty, but there's no dust." He paused and ducked his head a little. "And there's lipstick under the couch."

"Right," McGee said, not exactly surprised that Gibbs had picked up on something he'd missed. He'd been in the basement too long. "I'll see what I can find out."

"Too late, McGeek," Tony announced as he walked into the room. His eyes flitted to Ziva's crouching form before continuing with his speech, ignorant of her own quick glance. "Derek Connelly was recently separated from his girlfriend of two years, Michelle Meyers. She left him a little over a week ago."

"Anything else?" Gibbs asked, taking a long pull from his coffee cup.

"Not really, boss," he said. "Quiet as a mouse, according to the neighbors. Everyone thought he was a nice kid."

"A nice kid who does lines on the coffee table, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked pointedly.

"I know, right?" Tony replied, not-so-silently thrilled to have someone to listen to him. "Very Tarantino."

Gibbs sent him a single look that spoke volumes.

"Shutting up, boss," he said, feeling happier in that moment than he had in some time. He was part of a team again. Gibbs' team, at that. His word had slid back into place, and his feelings bordered on absolute euphoria.

Ziva caught the look on her partner's face and smiled, knowing exactly how he felt. It had been strange for the first few days; when she looked across the walkway, she actually found Tony at his desk. For a long time, even in Israel, she'd had to imagine him and deal with the longing that came hand in hand with the illusion. By the end of the summer—before she'd gone undercover in Morocco—she'd almost resigned herself to the idea that she would never see him again. But now they were both home, where they needed to be.

"Officer David?" Gibbs asked pointedly for the third time. Ziva jerked her head up, unaware that she'd stopped taking pictures.

"I'm sorry, Gibbs," she said. "I must have placed out."

"Spaced out, Ziva," McGee corrected good-naturedly.

"Don't apologize," Gibbs reminded gruffly.

"Yes," she said, standing. "It seems that I have forgotten that rule."

"McGee you're with me," Gibbs said, exiting the room. "DiNozzo!"

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Collect evidence with Ziva until you've cleared the scene," he ordered as he walked out the door, McGee following closely behind him.

Tony nodded at Ziva, who only stared back. The tension was palpable; Ducky could feel it and almost shook his head. Saying nothing more, Ziva went back to her pictures and Tony cleared his throat loudly—both in an effort to pretend that no awkward silences hung between them. Once upon a time, there weren't any.

"Hurry it up, Zee-vah," he said, accentuating the sound of her name. The gesture felt so familiar, yet somehow foreign, and she found herself smiling. "I've got places to be."

"Then you should collect the physical evidence as Gibbs said," Ziva suggested. "And then you can get back to your busy life."

"Fair point," he admitted, pulling latex gloves onto his hands. He worked around Ducky and Palmer to collect the drug paraphernalia from the table. Careful not to inhale the powder, he deposited a sample of it into a vial that Abby would analyze later in her basement.

"I'm ready when you are, Tony," Ziva said, putting the camera away as she watched him. Trying not to smile, she realized with some humor that the statement was incredibly ambiguous. He pretended not to notice.

"Give me a second," he said, taking a careful fingerprint off the baggy next to the drugs. "True genius takes time."

Ziva lifted an eyebrow. "Do geniuses often leave their shoes untied?" she asked, staring down at the loose laces on Tony's right foot.

He glared. "Sometimes, yeah," he justified. "Einstein couldn't tie his shoes, either, you know."

"You are not Albert Einstein," she pointed out, walking from the room. "You are barely Yogi Bear." The retort tingled on her lips, and for a brief moment she felt like she had for the last three years. Pushing the nostalgia aside, she called over her shoulder, "I will wait for you in the truck."

Ducky waited until Ziva was well out of earshot before commenting.

"I'm glad things are back to normal," he said simply, packing up the rest of his bag while Palmer wheeled their victim out to the coroner's van. He watched Tony's face carefully as he replied.

"Me, too, Duck," Tony said, ignoring the small pressure on his chest that told him things were still far from normal. He still missed Ziva like she was a thousand miles away, even though he could reach out and touch her if he wanted. And he did want. Things wouldn't be normal again until he could look at her without hurting a little.

That thought hanging unpleasantly in his mind, he bagged the rest of the evidence he'd collected and walked out to the truck, where he found Ziva leaning against the side waiting for him.

"Are you ready now?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

He sighed. "As I'll ever be."

**A/N: I know this chapter was kind of short, and uneventful, but I promise that the chapters following chapter two will be much longer. I just need to set the stage a bit. If you want me to continue, that is. Tell me by hitting the little button! **


	2. For Lack of a Better Option

**Author's Note:**

**Thanks for all the kind reviews! My story will now continue.**

**Chapter Two**

"**For Lack of a Better Option"**

The evidence for the murder of Derek Connelly, like the other three incidences, led nowhere.

Tony spent two days talking to everyone who came in or out of Low Tide, the bar that all the victims seemed to have in common. No one could so much as recognize Connelly, much less a person who _might _have been seen talking to him almost a week before. He walked out of the bar for what felt like the millionth time that week, exceedingly more frustrated than when he walked in. Thrilled though he was to be home, he'd forgotten about the pesky leg work portion of the job.

While Tony had been a barfly, McGee had been locked in Abby's basement, taking apart every screw and wire in Derek Connelly's life. He thoroughly searched the sailor's computer, only to find things typical of a twenty-something year-old male. E-mails to family and friends from high school and boot camp, and not much else. He'd been corresponding with a private jeweler designing an engagement ring. There was no espionage hidden, no blackmail schemes, or anything else that would have painted a target on the back of his head.

As Ducky had predicted, apnea resulting from cyanide poisoning was the official cause of death. Because of his blood-alcohol level, the cocaine in his system had barely had time to metabolize before the cyanide the drug had been cut with shut his lungs down completely; effectively suffocating him. The apnea and the drug itself coupled with cardiac arrest and the young Derek Connelly didn't have a chance. Ducky clucked and sighed, wondering why it was always the young ones who ended up so untimely on his autopsy table.

Abby and her diligent machines supplied that the cyanide in the drugs Derek Connelly had purchased matched the strain to the other three victims, making whoever was supplying the drugs a serial offender. No trace evidence that could lead to identification was found at either of the scenes, and so Abby was left trying to hunt down the origin of the cocaine—hoping that in the vast maze that was the drug world, there would be one unique chemical signature that accompanied a name.

Ziva and Gibbs spent the last two days talking to Derek Connelly's friends and family, who said everything that the other families had: He was a good boy, he didn't do drugs, he wasn't depressed. The only deviation with the Connelly family was that Derek _was _depressed. He had been planning to propose to his girlfriend when she left him; that could depress anyone. While that instance probably gave him motive to purchase the drugs, it didn't give insight to the killer's motive at all.

It didn't make sense to anyone, including the team investigating the murders. Why would a drug dealer kill of his clients?

McGee sat at his desk wondering this one morning, before the rest of the team arrived. His four months in the Cyber Crimes unit didn't exactly give him a head start on criminology, and he realized with some disdain that it wasn't going to come back so easily. The rest of the team seemed to have fallen into place relatively quickly, and he was left faltering. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Why the long face, McGeek?" Tony asked, waltzing into the bullpen with his usual amount of bravado. "Your computer crash?"

"What?" McGee asked. "No. I just can't get a hold of this guy."

"If you love someone let them go," Tony said, his voice ripe with condescension. "If he loves you, he'll come back."

McGee scowled. "Very funny. I meant the drug dealer."

"What about him?" Ziva asked, walking into small enclosure that was their offices. She threw her bag to the ground behind her desk and walked over to stand by McGee's desk.

"What kind of drug dealer kills off his clientele?" McGee asked. "What good could he possibly get from that? He wouldn't have any customers. None that come back, anyway."

"Perhaps he acquired a taste for killing," Ziva offered objectively.

"But if that's the case, he's acquired a very passive taste for it," Tony said. "None of the victims have actually died in the bar. If it was the killing he had a taste for, wouldn't he want to be there?"

McGee considered the question. "Unless he was escalating," he said and felt some relief when Ziva nodded her head expressively.

"It is certainly possible," Ziva said, catching on to McGee's train of thought relatively quickly. "He might be working his way up to being there when the victim actually dies. For now, the idea still makes him uncomfortable."

"What does that mean, Officer David?" Gibbs asked, marching into the bullpen behind his agents.

"That it will not be long before he uses a more direct method of murder, Gibbs," she said, turning to their leader. "And there will be no way of predicting when he decides to take the final skip."

"Leap," Tony and McGee corrected simultaneously.

"Whatever," she said, shaking her head. "You know what I meant."

"And I agree," Gibbs said, putting his coffee cup on the table. He threw Ziva a manila file folder. "That's why you're going undercover."

Ziva's eyebrows shot up and a sly smile formed at the corners of her mouth. Damn if the idea didn't excite her a bit. As happy as she was as an investigator, the occasional spy game suited her.

"Congratulations, Ziva," Gibbs said. "You're the new bartender. You start tomorrow night."

"Like Ziva can bartend," Tony scoffed a bit, suddenly unsure when Ziva sent him a playful but enigmatic glare.

"What? You can?"

Ziva didn't answer, but walked slowly back to her desk to start going over the file.

"Like 'Coyote Ugly' bartending?" Tony persisted, but wasn't answered. "I knew it," he said almost reverently. He turned quickly to Gibbs, the incredibly persuasive image of Ziva dancing on top of the bar invading his head. "What about me, boss?"

"What about you, DiNozzo?" he said, picking up the phone.

"I could be a bouncer, right?" he practically pleaded. He _needed _to be there. "Bus boy, something."

"Except the people who work there already know who you are, Tony," McGee offered objectively. "You questioned everyone, remember?"

"Damn it," Tony said under his breath. How the hell was he going to be able to keep an eye on Ziva if he wasn't there?

"Don't worry, DiNozzo, you'll have plenty to do," Gibbs said distractedly as he listened to his messages on his phone. "You'll be up in MTAC, watching the feed Ziva sends you. Keep your eye open for our guy."

"Yes, boss," he said dejectedly. He shrugged and figured that in the long run, there were worse assignments. He might get lucky and Ziva could accidentally drop the camera down her shirt.

"McGee, go help Abby," Gibbs ordered and McGee took off in the direction of the elevator. "Ziva, go brush up on your skills." He threw her a business card that had a phone number and address for a man named Gilbert Valdez.

"Call him," Gibbs said. "You're not leaving until he says you're free."

Ziva nodded and grabbed her bag from the floor. Dialing the number as she headed the door, she aimed a slight wave in Tony's direction before feeling ridiculous and heading the elevator that would lead her to the parking structure. She shook her head as she walked, wondering why she couldn't seem to get back into the rhythm they'd once shared.

He watched her wave, and then he watched her walk away. He spared the barest of moments to stare, to yearn, before turning back to Gibbs.

"What about me, boss?" Tony asked for the second time that day.

Gibbs seemed to consider the question but found that there was nothing left for Tony to do. Abby and McGee were occupied, Ducky and Palmer had their hands full, and he was going to be stuck at the desk making calls for—probably—the rest of the day. Knowing he was going to regret it, he sighed.

"Go with Ziva."

Tony grinned, straightened his face and said soberly, "Yes, boss."

Grabbing his back from behind his desk, he ran to catch Ziva before she left the parking lot. Gibbs sat at his desk and looked up the next number he needed, exhaling noisily. It was going to be an incredibly long day, and it had barely started.

--

Tony watched with amazement as Ziva twirled bottles, throwing them in the air and catching them without blinking. He really shouldn't have been so surprised; he'd seen her do the same things with almost every weapon known to man. Her current tutor—Valdez—laughed as a liter of Jack Daniels spun effortlessly in his student's palm, ending with a double on the rocks sliding to meet his ready hands at the end of the bar.

"Very good, Ziva! Very good," he said, taking a small sip of the liquor. "When did you say you last did this?"

"When I was twenty," she said, replacing the bottle on the shelf behind her. She eyed them carefully. "And no, I will not tell you how long ago that was."

Both men laughed, and Tony pretended he wasn't yearning for the dark liquor in his partner's hands. His drinking was in control; it had to be. Instead he focused on the competent movement of Ziva's hands and the steady rhythm of her voice. He loved listening to her.

"I was undercover," Ziva continued. "Again. I had a choice between bartending and stripping. Guess which one I chose?"

"You chose well," Valdez said, nodding his head at her. "You have genuine talent."

Tony wondered what the alternative would have been like.

Just after dark, Valdez pronounced Ziva ready to be a full-fledged bartender. He gave her a silly certificate with her name on it and the three shared a drink made, of course, by the newly-graduated Ziva. An hour after that, Tony and Ziva waved goodbye and headed for their car. Ziva laughed uncontrollably at one of Tony's many college memories, finding herself completely off her guard for the first time in quite a while. Tony had forgotten to hold himself back from her, and reveled in the familiarity of her touch when she playfully punched his arm. He realized with a smile that he hadn't had so much fun on some of his actual dates.

Their frame of mind lasted for some time afterwards, punctuated only by a call from Gibbs to see if Ziva had been pronounced capable. Tony was a few blocks from Ziva's apartment when it dawned on him that he didn't want it to end. He liked pretending that they hadn't been separated for months, and that everything between them was exactly as it should be. If he dropped her off right then, the illusion would be broken and they would be back to the grind first thing in the morning.

"Did you want to come back to my place?" he asked suddenly, hoping it didn't sound too sleazy.

"For what?" she asked, not daring to hope that he meant what she thought he meant.

"A drink," he said simply. "You know… to help you practice." He laughed. "It could be a study session."

Ziva nodded slowly. "I think I could manage a drink or two," she said, silently grateful that their day wouldn't have to end so quickly. "How much alcohol do you have at your apartment, exactly?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "Enough."

Ziva refused to look too much into it, knowing already she wouldn't like what she saw.

She said very little for the remainder of their drive, content to listen to the cadence of Tony's voice. She'd almost forgotten the calming affect it had on her. She nodded her head or gave simple answers when necessary, but otherwise stared out the window until he parked the Mustang. She walked with him to the front door and her eyes widened when he unlocked the door.

Ziva had been to Tony's apartment several times before, but had never seen it looking as it did then. She had to make a conscious effort to not let her jaw hit the ground as she walked across the threshold.

It was clean.

She followed him into the living room and he took her jacket from her shoulders while she looked around in complete shock. He noticed the look on her face and laughed a little.

"What?" he asked. "You've never seen an apartment before?"

"I have," she defended. "Just not one this clean. Particularly yours." She eyed him. "Did the time onboard the _Reagan_ adjust your personal hygiene?"

He shrugged. "It's hard to live in a pigsty that's about the size of a jail cell," he said nonchalantly. "Having it clean makes it a little easier."

She nodded approvingly. "I'm impressed, Tony." She looked around. "So? What are we having?"

"A pop quiz," he announced joyfully and led her back to the kitchen, where bottles lined the cabinets. Most of them were still full, so Ziva pushed her worry for her partner to the side for the moment. She watched as he pulled two empty bar glasses from the cabinet and set them on the counter between them.

"Let the games begin," he announced with a sly smile and Ziva returned the challenge with a smile of her own. "Consider this your final exam."

--

Two long and messy hours later, they were both completely intoxicated and laughing uncontrollably at things that weren't even funny.

Tony couldn't seem to force the smile from his face or the spring from his step. He played the music from his stereo much too loud—he was expecting phone calls from his neighbors at any moment—and Ziva sat atop his kitchen counter, watching him with a joy she couldn't remember feeling for quite some time. She'd made him every drink he'd asked for, picking the desired labels from the myriad of colorful bottles laying around his kitchen. The result was that she had, indeed, practiced; she knew every drink Tony had ordered from memory. The result also happened to be a severe form of intoxication.

For Tony, it was progress. The last hundred times he'd gotten drunk, it was to brood and beat himself up.

"You, miss," he slurred, pointing at Ziva. "You, miss, are a damn good bartender."

"Why, thank you," she said, afraid to bow like she wanted for fear of toppling over. Not even her intense Mossad training could withstand Tony's alcohol collection, or her own penchant for tequila.

He leaned on the counter next to her and fixed her with a serious expression.

"Do you ever get nervous going undercover?" he asked, remembering even through the haze how it had racked his nerves the year before.

"Sometimes," she said honestly. She wouldn't let her mind wander to Andrew Hoffman, or the bomb in Morocco for fear that he would see her falter. "Not much anymore, though."

"You're so brave," he said dreamily, eliciting a laugh from Ziva that had him sitting up straight to look into the chocolate-brown eyes he'd come to know as well as his own.

"You laughing at me?" he asked playfully, adopting DeNiro's voice as his own. "You laughing at me?"

Ziva shook her head. "Never, Tony."

"I think you are," he said, leaning his forearms on the counter beside her.

"Laughing at you?"

"Brave," he corrected.

She found herself staring intently at the floor rather than groping desperately for words that she probably would have mangled anyway. It wasn't like Tony to be so forthcoming with his emotions. Luckily for them, when morning rolled around they would be able to blame it on the alcohol.

Dean Martin crooned for the stereo and Tony reached gallantly for Ziva's hand, dragging her off the counter and into his arms. He swayed clumsily back and forth, successfully incorporating his incapacitation with his admirable attempt to dance. Ziva laughed but followed his lead.

"Oh, Tony," she said, laughing but leaning her head against his chest.

"Oh, Zee-vah," he replied, relishing the taste of her name on his lips.

"I missed you," she said before she realized the complete and total honesty of her words. The alcohol made her stronger, however, so she made no attempt to smooth the confession over. Luckily so for Tony, who relished the words with every fiber of his being.

"I missed you, too," he said, trying his best not to slur the words that meant so much. Ziva said nothing, content instead to sigh and keep her hands in his, letting him lead her clumsily around the kitchen and then back into the living room. They collapsed awkwardly on the couch, saying nothing as the world spun around them. Ziva groaned.

"I do not think this was our best idea," she said. "We will both be hung-out tomorrow at work."

"Hung-over," he said reflexively and shrugged. "We'll make it." He thought for a moment. "Well, I'll make it. Your car is still at the yard."

Ziva cringed. "I do not know why I didn't think of that sooner," she turned to face him where he lay sprawled on the couch. "I will call a taxi later, yes?"

He shrugged, determined to at least appear ambivalent. "If you want."

"I will call now and let them know where to pick me up," she said and attempted to pull herself off the couch. The attempt was futile, however, and she came crashing back down. Her stomach turned violently and her head spun in dizzying circles. Tony laughed and Ziva closed her eyes.

"This really wasn't our best idea," she said, wondering when she should have known to cut herself off. It was probably when she'd found herself staring adoringly at Tony while he acted out the final scene of the Godfather.

Tony attempted to sit upright and found himself gently tilting to his left. Ziva caught his head in her lap before he fell completely off the couch and she laughed when he blinked up at her, as though he were confused how he got there.

"Hello there, gorgeous," he said, surprising both of them. He thought if he'd known that the small compliment would make her smile that way, he would have said it every day of the last three years they'd spent together.

"You are drunk," Ziva said nervously as he sat up to twist around and face her.

He shrugged. "Maybe a little," he said and leaned into her. He could smell the scent he knew was hers even under the alcohol. It was something he realized he'd taken for granted all the years before his time as an agent afloat.

Tony leaned until his breath mingled with hers. He felt every muscle in Ziva's body tense, waiting for him to move the slightest inch forward. An inch was all it would take, and they would both be done for. His blood raced and pounded like thunder in his ears, belying the depressant effects of the alcohol he'd been consuming all night. He moved tentatively, sliding his lips over hers slowly enough to give her time to pull away. He felt nothing short of mind-blowing relief when she didn't.

They'd barely been touching a second when the lights when out. He didn't know it happened, but it had.

Ziva laughed when Tony's eyes flickered closed and his head slid to rest on her chest. She couldn't believe he'd passed out. Deciding she'd rather sleep uncomfortably—and drunk—on Tony's couch than worry about waking him and calling a cab, she leaned back and let his head rest on her stomach. Her eyes had been closed for only a moment when sleep claimed her.


	3. WakeUp Call

**Author's Note:**

**Um… I really don't have anything to note. Thanks for the reviews! Keep them coming! (Because a happy writer is a faster writer.)**

**Chapter Three**

**"Wake-up Call"**

Ziva woke when the pounding in her head became too much to bear. Music was playing much too loudly in her ears and she winced, shielding her now hyper-sensitive eyes from the onslaught of sunlight in the room. A heavy weight pressed on her stomach and she tried to roll over, only to realize that she was about to fall of Tony's couch and that the man himself was the reason she couldn't.

His head was turned sideways, pressed against her midriff. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of her shirt. One of his arms hung off the side of the couch and the other was wrapped around her waist, holding her in place. She fought the almost unbeatable urge to run her fingers through his endearingly rumpled hair. She barely had the courage to breathe, afraid she would wake him.

She gulped down the initial shock and raced through her memories of the night before, terrified that she would find something she didn't want to see. She remembered drinking—a lot—and she thought they might have danced. Her clothes were still on, so as far as she was concerned that was a good sign. She wanted to spend the night with Tony, to really spend the night, but she preferred that it not be under the influence of alcohol or any other substance. She wanted to remember every minute, if it ever did happen. An image flashed in her mind without warning or provocation, and she gasped.

They kissed.

Did they?

Yes!

… No. Surely she'd remember such a thing.

She remembered him looking at her, remembered leaning forward to meet him halfway. They had touched for only an instant, and then—ah! That was it!—Tony had passed out. _Ever the romantic_, Ziva thought with a frustrated but loving sigh. It wasn't really a kiss. More of a… graze, she thought lamely. Well, maybe more, but _that _had definitely not been a kiss. Not a real one. She remembered his kisses all too well, but wished to God that she'd been able to forget them. Perhaps then she wouldn't want him so much. It had been so long, she'd almost forgotten what it was like not to.

Ziva let her head fall back down to the arm of the couch and she sighed. Part of her wanted to go back to sleep, but she couldn't find the remote for the stereo and the music was too loud to let her. Frank Sinatra penetrated every crevice of her brain and made it impossible for her to do anything but wish with every fiber of her being that she could break the stereo into a thousand tiny pieces.

Just as she had been considering the consequences of lighting the damned device on fire, Tony stirred on top of her. She froze, half hoping that he would go back to sleep. Instead he cleared his throat and groaned, leaving Ziva to mentally fly through all her possible actions at light speed. She hadn't yet made up her mind when he picked up his head and stared at her through bleary eyes. Rather than looking angry, Ziva was unspeakably grateful when he only looked confused.

"You're still here?" he asked roughly, trying to clear the sleep from his voice. His eyes caught hers and he held his breath for a split second; even hung-over she was beautiful. Pushing the thought aside, he added, "I thought you'd be in MTAC by now." His eyes widened and Ziva gasped.

"Oh, shit," he said, picturing already the look on Gibbs' face when they ran in the doors late. Together.

"What time is it?" Ziva asked hurriedly when he rolled off her. He hit the floor and got up to run clumsily down the hall. Her eyes rested on the wall clock. "It is almost nine. Gibbs will kill us."

"What time were we supposed to be there?" he asked, running back to his bedroom to change clothes despite the agonizing pounding behind his eyes.

"Eight, I think," she said, doing her best to fix the tangled mess that was her hair in a mirror in the hallway. "He said eight, yes?"

"Oh, like I remember," Tony called out to her sarcastically, rooting through his closet for a suit that could belie the fact that he had a raging hangover. He chose black with a slate-gray shirt and tie. If he was lucky, it would bring out the blue in his eyes rather than the red. Coming across a sudden realization, he laughed out loud as he pulled his wrinkled shirt over his head to toss haphazardly to the floor.

"What's so funny?" Ziva asked, picking up her gun and badge from Tony's kitchen table.

"You get to do the walk of shame, Zee-vah," he said, hurriedly buttoning his shirt and making an attempt to button the fly of his pants. He started tying his tie in front of the mirror, and he nodded his head. His hair was a wreck, but his suit looked damn good.

"I do not know what that means," she replied. She did her best not to stare as he walked down the hall, looking far better than she did.

"You get to go to work in the same clothes you left in," he said, laughing when Ziva's eyes widened in realization. She looked like a deer stuck in some trucker's headlights.

"We have time to stop by my apartment, yes?" she practically begged, thinking only of the snickers behind her back when she walked in next to Tony wearing the same clothes she had on yesterday.

"Sorry, no time," he said stubbornly.

"You cannot be serious."

Tony only laughed and grabbed his car keys.

"Tony?" she asked tentatively, following him out the front door. "Tony! You cannot let me go into work like this!"

"Oh," he said, laughing as though he'd woken up to find Christmas two months early. "Oh, but I can."

She glared. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would," he said, climbing in the driver's seat of his beloved Mustang. "In fact, I am. Get in."

"I will call a taxi," she said, turning her chin up in defiance.

"At nine o'clock on a work morning?" he asked incredulously and chuckled obnoxiously. "Good luck, then. I'll probably see you this time tomorrow. See ya, Zee-vah."

He started the engine and smiled uncontrollably when Ziva opened the passenger side door to climb in. He waited while she buckled her seat belt and slammed the door a little harder than he would have liked. Rather than flinch and give her the satisfaction of knowing that she upset him, he faced her with a ridiculous smile.

"I despise you," she said, staring straight ahead.

"Oh, sweetcheeks," he laughed and threw the car into reverse. "You don't mean that."

She shot him a sideways glance as they sped down his street.

"Try me."

--

They stumbled out of the elevator almost thirty minutes later, and Tony could practically see the steam coming out of Ziva's ears. He fought to hide the grin on his face as they approached the bullpen, knowing that if Gibbs saw the tiniest hint of amusement he would grind him into dust with a smile on his face.

"DiNozzo! David!" they heard Gibbs yell as they approached. Ziva flinched at his tone of voice; he was certainly not very happy. "Where the hell have you been?"

They stood front and center, under the weight of Gibbs' stare. Ziva studied her feet, dejected, while Tony gallantly fumbled about for a believable excuse. Ziva didn't know why he bothered trying to lie to Gibbs; the man was a human polygraph. So while Tony made a fool of himself, Ziva remained silent. She could have sworn she heard McGee on the phone in his corner of the bullpen.

"David?" Gibbs asked stoically, waiting for her to defend herself.

Ziva kept her eyes to the floor. "It will not happen again, Gibbs."

"See that it doesn't," he said, eyeing her and taking the time to notice that both of his agents had red eyes and smelled a little like liquor. He noticed that the clothes Ziva was wearing were the same ones she'd been wearing yesterday. He raised an eyebrow, looked at Tony—who stared guiltily back through bloodshot eyes—and walked up the stairs to MTAC. Tony and Ziva took their hint and followed him dropping their bags on the floor beside their desks as they went.

Vance was waiting for them—though not so patiently—in the dark room and sent Gibbs a questioning glance when he saw them walk in the door.

"Traffic," Gibbs said simply, offering no room for explanation. Vance shrugged his shoulders; it was Gibbs' concern, not his. Gibbs' two agents followed him into the room and Vance noticed that they both looked exhausted. He pushed the observation aside and launched into his lecture.

"Ziva, this is your camera," Vance said, handing her a small velvet box. She opened it to find a gold chain with a diamond pendant at the end. "Wear that and we'll get the feed here. Tech support has your earpiece, so you can hear whatever we need to tell you." He turned to Tony. "DiNozzo, you're in charge of watching the feed while the rest of the team follows the leads you two will provide for them. Understood?"

Tony and Ziva nodded in unison.

"Good," he said. "Ziva, you're expected at the bar at three o'clock this afternoon. Good luck to both of you."

Vance walked from the room and Gibbs turned to them.

"The next time either of you come to work hung-over, I will make sure you spend the day assisting Ducky and Palmer down in Autopsy," he said under his breath with a sober expression that left very little room for argument. "Is that clear?"

"Crystal, boss," Tony said and suppressed the desire to salute.

"David, go home and get ready," he ordered, leaving Ziva to nod her head quickly and walk away. "DiNozzo, I have a paper trail I need you to follow."

He cringed, but knew it was mild as far as punishments go. Gibbs could, and would, do worse.

"Yes, boss."

--

Ziva walked into her apartment and could have kissed the hardwood floor. She could take the longest, hottest shower of her life and make coffee strong enough even for Gibbs. She reached first for the aspirin in her medicine cabinet, wondering if it was possible to will away the headache screaming behind her eyes. Though she knew it was unkind, she hoped Tony was just as miserable; it was his fault, anyway. Getting drunk the night before work was probably one of the stupidest ideas he'd ever had.

The coffee was pleasant and the shower was just long and hot enough to cure her of the hangover. She lounged on the couch for an hour, taking the time to enjoy the dark roast and the sound of complete silence. She might have even dozed off a little. When she finally got up it was just after noon, and she had to get ready to be at the bar at three.

She spent the next thirty minutes staring at her closet, wondering what a bartender wears. She doubted it was the cargo pants she was so fond of, or the simple—but comfortable—sweaters. Knowing already that she would probably live to regret it, she picked up her cell phone and dialed the fourth number on her speed dial. It rang a few times before a familiar voice answered, accompanied by something that sounded to Ziva like nails on a chalkboard.

"Abby Schiuto."

"Abby, it's me," Ziva said and heard the blaring heavy metal music in the background of the other side of the line go quieter.

"Ziva!" the forensic scientist squealed into the phone. "How can I help you today?" She paused. "Wait. Aren't you supposed to be undercover?"

"Yes," Ziva answered. "That is the problem. I need your help."

"Ooh, sounds fun," Abby said and lowered her voice. "Do you need an accomplice? I could totally do that."

"No, Abby," she said, laughing. "I do not know what to wear."

The silence on the other line made Ziva wonder if the lab tech had hung up. She checked to see if the call was still connected.

"Abby?" she queried into the mouthpiece. "Abby, are you there?"

"In shock," Abby replied before laughter erupted into Ziva's ear. "You're joking, right?"

"No," Ziva said quietly. "I do not think this is funny."

"No, of course not," Abby said, giggling. "Okay, okay, we can do this. What do you have?"

"Nothing," Ziva said, exasperated. "That is the problem."

"Don't panic, I've got this completely covered," Abby said. "When do you have to be there?"

"Three o'clock," she answered. "What did you have in mind?"

"I'm about to leave on my lunch break," Abby said. "I'll be at your apartment in fifteen minutes."

"Abby! I—" Ziva started but the line was dead.

She knew she'd regret it.

**A/N: I know, this was kind of a filler chapter. But hey, you need them every now and then.**


	4. New Kid on the Block

**Author's Note:**

**This is quite a long chapter. I don't know how it happened, really, but there it is. I hope you all enjoy it! Reviews are love, people. **

**Chapter Four**

"**New Kid on the Block"**

Ziva stepped out of her car in the parking lot of the bar feeling completely ridiculous. Abby had spent her entire hour for lunch torturing her in ways she thought have been more effective if used by a terrorist cell. Between the flattening iron and the eyelash curler, Ziva felt as though she'd been put through the ringer. With Abby smiling manically behind the weapons, Ziva would have told her anything she'd wanted to know. But she would give Abby this; she did not look like herself. She supposed that was the point.

"Ready, Zee-vah?" Tony asked in her ear.

"Ready," she said confidently as she walked to the front of the bar.

Low Tide was a bar near the base that was frequented mostly by sailors and the occasional Marine. Obviously fake palm trees decorated the front, making it a mediocre substitute for an island paradise. The neon signs advertising the liquor and food had been turned off in the ungodly hours of the morning, and would not be turned on again for another hour or two. The life of the barfly was nocturnal; Ziva knew her sleeping habits were going to make a sharp change if they didn't catch the guy soon.

"Why are you walking funny?" Tony asked from his seat in MTAC. On either side of him were a bucket of popcorn and a vat of his chosen carbonated beverage. He'd propped his feet up on the seat ahead of him, a smile on his face and scenes of Coyote Ugly dancing merrily in his head.

"What do you mean?" Ziva asked. Tony watched as the image bounced a little.

"You're walking funny," he said simply, his version of elaboration.

"Abby made me wear heels," she said under her breath, almost a curse. She scowled to hear Tony's laugh. "It is not funny."

"I beg to differ," he said, laughing harder. "It's pretty hilarious, when you think about it."

"Then remind me to stab you with one later," she said menacingly as she opened the doors. Tony caught a glimpse of her reflection in the doors and he whistled.

"What?" she snapped under her breath.

"Nothing," he said quickly. If his quick glance was correct, he could have mapped out every curve in her body from memory. Sultry red and denim clung to her figure like a second skin, punctuated by the long and ridiculously straight hair falling almost to her elbows. He swallowed hard, and he made a mental note to send Abby a massive bouquet of black roses.

"Hello?" Ziva called out and Tony turned his attention back to the screen, where Ziva was walking tentatively around the empty building. "Hello?"

"We're closed until four!" a female voice shouted from the back. "Come back in an hour."

Ziva walked toward the back of the bar, the direction from which she'd heard the voice. She went through the back door to find a tall blonde with short hair carrying a large wooden case of liquor. The woman stared Ziva down with obviously fake honey-colored contact lenses.

"I said we're closed," she repeated.

"My name is Anna," Ziva said, adopting her cover flawlessly. "I am the new bartender."

"Oh!" the woman exclaimed, breaking into a bright smile almost immediately. "I'm so sorry, I should have remembered. They told me yesterday you were coming and it completely skipped my mind."

"It is no problem," Ziva said, shaking the hand the woman had offered.

"I'm Leslie," she said. "I'll be your other half behind the bar."

"Nice to meet you," Ziva said and watched her carry the case back to the front. "I can help you, if you wish."

"Sure, yeah," Leslie answered breathlessly after sitting the crate on top of the bar. "I got kind of used to doing it on my own. Sometimes my boyfriend, Kenny, helps. He's the cook here. But he's a little under the weather today, so I'm flying solo."

"I see," Ziva said, taking a moment to sweep her eyes over the bar. Tony's screen in MTAC followed her movements, giving him a visual layout of the building. Ziva asked conversationally, "How busy does it get around here?"

"Oh, girl," Leslie laughed. "It's a Friday night. You're not going to breathe until about one o'clock in the morning."

Ziva cleared her throat. "It is going to be a long night, then."

"Eh, not really. If you're busy it goes by pretty fast," she said. "Why? You nervous?"

"Maybe a little," Ziva said, ducking her head a bit to make a show when, in all actuality, she was more concerned with how easily she would be able to keep an eye on the patrons.

"Don't worry about it," Leslie said encouragingly. "You'll do fine." Ziva smiled in response and Leslie welcomed her behind the bar with a wave. "Now come on, I'll show you how we do things around here."

--

By nine o'clock, Ziva was exhausted. Her feet hurt—_why _did she wear heels?—and Tony was falling asleep in his makeshift movie theater seat. His pizza and popcorn were cold, and he was starting to wonder if this method of information collection was really the most efficient. He watched as Ziva served what must have been her millionth beer of the night and stifled a yawn.

"What will it be?" he heard her ask and leaned his head back in his chair.

"Hopefully your phone number by the end of the night," he heard a deep voice say from the screen. He sat bolt upright, glaring at the new face streaming through Ziva's camera. The guy stared at Ziva like she was the last woman on earth, fixing her with a lopsided grin and bright blue eyes.

Tony hated the guy already, but he shrugged him off. The poor sap wouldn't be the first that Ziva had turned down that night. Expecting to hear Ziva's polite rejection, instead he heard her laugh.

"This is your third time to come see me," Ziva said, pouring something dark in a large beer mug. Tony's mind whirled. Had he really been there three times? How had he not noticed?

"And I'm still waiting for that phone number," the guy said, taking the mug Ziva offered with a smile.

"I'm afraid you might be waiting a while," she said and Tony inaudibly cheered. "I do not get off for another few hours."

His jaw hit the floor.

"I can wait," the guy said and offered a hand to her. "I'm Drew. Drew Connor."

"Anna," she said, taking his hand and shaking it while Tony seethed from miles away.

"I like your accent," Drew said, watching her wipe off the bar counter. "Where's it from? Israel?"

Ziva didn't as much as blink while she shifted her accent slightly. No one but Tony could have caught the difference.

"Costa Rica," she answered.

"It's beautiful," the man said and Tony rolled his eyes dramatically.

He stared at the screen while the two made idle chit-chat, willing the man to disappear into thin air. Tony's eyes met Connor's on the screen as though he was looking directly at him, and it unnerved him until he remembered that the camera was around Ziva's neck in the form of jewelry. He sat upright with a scowl on his face. The bastard was staring down her shirt.

"Ziva, lose this guy," he said into the mouthpiece of his headset. "I can't get a visual." _He won't, either, _Tony thought with a devilish smirk.

"You should really return to your date, Drew," Ziva said. "I'd hate for her to miss you."

"Oh, I came alone," he said, smirking a bit. "Lucky for me."

"I hate to disappoint you, but if you are waiting on me you will be leaving alone, as well," she replied and Tony pumped his fist in the air.

"Maybe next time, then," he said and pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet. "It was nice to meet you, Anna."

"Nice to meet you, too," she said, and watched him walk away from the bar.

"Jerk," Tony muttered to the man's retreating back and Ziva's shushed voice came into his headset.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he said. "When are you allowed to leave? This is boring."

"Maybe for you," Ziva whispered, thinking of the bruises she would undoubtedly have on the balls of her feet. She was never wearing another pair of heels as long as she lived. "Leslie!"

"Yeah?" the other bartender called from across the divide.

"Can you spare me for just a moment?" Ziva asked, sliding a Corona down the bar to a man who had been particularly impatient. "I need to use the ladies' room."

"Go for it," Leslie said. "I've got this."

Ziva left the bar to go back through the kitchen, where she could find a quieter spot to talk to Tony. She chose the back bathroom, where she wouldn't have to worry about interruptions. He watched her journey, listened as she told random workers hello, and said nothing as she closed herself off in the bathroom. One look at Ziva standing in front of the mirror had him swallowing every comment he would have made any other time.

He'd seen correctly earlier; Ziva was covered by a tight red top that wrapped around her generous curves and denim that hugged her hips close. She'd straightened her hair and while he loved it curly—she was Ziva that way—he didn't so much mind the alternative, either. He could see the remnants of red lipstick on her lips and an incredibly tired expression on her face. Then she turned from the mirror and hoisted herself onto the sink to give her feet a break.

"Any potential in the crowd?" Tony asked conversationally while the camera angled itself at the wall in front of her.

"None that I can see," Ziva said, letting her shoes fall from her feet to the ground. The relief was immediate and she almost moaned, but saved herself the pleasure because she knew Tony would hear. "It is harder than I thought it would be to keep an eye on everyone."

"You've been busy," Tony agreed. "Maybe I can convince Gibbs to let me go over there and hang out for a little while."

"They will recognize you, Tony," Ziva reminded. "If it is someone who works here that is killing these people, they will not act if they recognize you in the crowd."

"And if it's not someone who works there?" he asked. "What then?"

"I will let you know when I figure that out," she said honestly. "Until then, we are both stuck exactly where we are."

"I guess so," he said and they were silent for a while. Before Ziva moved to slide herself off the sink Tony spoke up. "What are you doing after work?"

"Resting my feet," she said as she slipped the red torture devices back on. She cursed Abby all over again. "After that, I do not know. Why?"

"Dinner and a movie, my place," he said, doing his best to sound completely conversational. He saw Ziva hesitate and he quickly added, "I promise there will be no alcohol whatsoever."

Ziva laughed. "I will hold you to that."

"Is that a yes?"

She nodded her head. "Yes." She said nothing else as she walked out of the bathroom and back into the crowds of people, but her mind was reeling. Had Tony just asked her on a date?

Tony's mind reeled. Had he just asked Ziva on a date?

--

Midnight rolled around found Ziva practically dead on her feet. Almost every inch of her body was in pain and nothing else was on her mind but lying down and never getting up. Hand to hand combat hadn't wiped her out the same way, even when she was getting the hell beat out of her. She was convinced that Tony had fallen asleep two hours ago, because he hadn't said a word in as long. His silence was punctuated by the occasional snore, but nothing else.

"Anna, you can get out of here," Leslie said, pouring a beer. Ziva looked over at her with a hope in her eyes that she dared not voice. Leslie saw the look, knew it well, and laughed. "I mean it. Go home. You did a great job tonight."

"Thank you very much. I am exhausted," Ziva sighed. "What time do I need to return tomorrow?"

"We'll do five," Leslie said. "And you can leave those at home." Ziva followed the woman's gaze to her feet.

"I was planning on it, thank you," Ziva said, delighting herself momentarily with the fantasy of cutting them into tiny pieces of leather. "I will see you tomorrow, then. Have a good night."

"You, too," Leslie answered. Before Ziva could walk out the door she yelled, "You forgot your tips!"

Ziva turned. "What tips?"

"We split everything," Leslie explained and handed Ziva a stack of bills. "It's a little over a hundred. Not bad for your first night."

Ziva nodded, feeling surprised and a little proud of herself.

"Wow," she said. "Alright. Goodnight."

Leslie nodded her head and watched Ziva walk—limp—out the door.

When Ziva reached the car she sat in the driver's seat and leaned her head back. She wasn't entirely sure if she would ever be able to pick it up again.

"Tony," she said, waiting to hear his reply. "Tony?" No answer. "Tony!" she yelled and heard a grunt in her ear.

"What? I'm here," he said and Ziva could tell from his voice that she'd woken him. "What's going on?"

"I got him," she lied. "I'm on my way back to the yard."

"What? Seriously?" Tony asked, incredulous and completely awake. "Why didn't you—uh," he stammered, "Tell me?"

"You idiot," she said as she started the car. "I am kidding."

"Like I believed you," he said, sitting up from his previously sprawled position across two chairs. "Are you still up for a movie tonight?"

"I think so," she said, pulling out of the parking lot. "And I will bring the pizza. I made good tips tonight."

Tony laughed. "Did you?"

"Over a hundred dollars," she said proudly and heard Tony's applause in her ear.

"Good job," he said. "Okay, you bring the food and I have the entertainment. I'll meet you at my place in twenty."

"Will do," she said and turned her earpiece off. She pressed the diamond part of her necklace down to turn the camera off and she took the pendant off completely, replacing it with her Star of David. She placed the earpiece and the camera in the small velvet box that Vance had given her and headed for Tony's favorite pizza place. The question of the date still bounced around in her mind but she ignored it for the time being, content to let them figure it out when they got there.

--

Tony opened the door to his two favorite things in the world: Food, and Ziva. She gave him a tired but genuine smile as she walked through the door holding two large cardboard boxes. Between the smell of the pizza and the fit of her jeans, he would have followed her to the ends of the earth. Luckily for him, she only went as far as the kitchen.

He watched, tongue almost hanging out, as she sat both boxes on the counter. She had barely removed her hand when he pounced on the first box. He threw open the lid and made a face that Ziva would remember the rest of her life; it was the face of absolute disgust.

"What's this?" he asked, looking down at the box. He stared down at—what he thought—was vegetarian pizza. "There's green stuff on this pizza."

"That is because it is mine," Ziva said. "Yours is in the other box." He practically flung the top box to the side, earning a scowl from Ziva, and stared lovingly at what he found in the second box.

"Meat-lovers," he said reverently and turned to her. "I adore you."

Ziva fought the blush creeping into her cheeks and cleared her throat. "What are we watching?"

"Whatever you want," he said, talking around a mouthful of pizza. Ziva winced at the sight, mildly offended by his manners. "Go pick something. I'll be in there in a minute."

She left Tony to his torrid love affair and went into the living room, where she kicked off her heels with a satisfying _thunk_. This time she did groan, unintentionally sending the sound down the hallway. Tony's ears perked up.

"Found something you like?" he asked, sticking his head out into the hallway. He walked into the living room to find Ziva situated on the arm of the couch, rotating her ankle slowly. "Did you fall off your clogs?"

"Hmm?" she asked, confused. "Oh, no, you are the dancer. Not me."

His face fell. "I said that didn't leave the room."

She only smiled. "Wearing high heels to work was a mistake," she explained. "My feet are murdering me."

"I think you mean 'killing'," he ventured but seemed to reconsider. "Though I guess it could work either way."

"I think murder is appropriate," she said, waiting for the throbbing to cease.

"Did you find a movie?"

"No," she said. "And I do not think I could stay awake through one, anyway."

Knowing that she was tired but unwilling for her to leave, he fixed her with a grin.

"What if I promised that the movie was guaranteed to keep you awake?"

She eyed him. "I am listening."

He went to the top shelf of the case and pulled down his favorite Christmas movie of all time. Ziva read the title aloud.

"Die hard?"

"Bruce Willis, Alan Rickman?" he said, apparently expecting his intensity to snap knowledge of the movie into Ziva's head. She only stared. "No? Okay, I pick this. Put it in and I'll grab the food."

Within a few moments they had piled onto the couch; Tony with his beloved pizza box, and Ziva with her own plate. Ziva was enraptured almost immediately after the beginning credits, and Tony smiled unabashedly at the intense look on her face. He liked knowing that he'd made good on his promise to find a movie that would keep her awake. Die Hard was a classic anyway; anyone living in America should be made to see and memorize it. He was just doing his part to help her assimilate.

Tony smiled when Ziva yelled at the television screen, attempting to warn the characters. He chuckled when she threw a wadded-up napkin in Hans's face. He fell in love with her all over again when she tried--and failed--to pronounce "yipee-kay-yay". By the time the credits were rolling up the darkened screen, his eyes were locked on her and he was hardly aware that the movie had ended until Ziva looked up at him.

"What is the matter?" she asked. "You look strange."

He managed a small laugh, belying the awkward sensations careening around in his stomach.

"Gee, thanks."

"Is something wrong?" she asked. She knew all his faces and moods better than anyone; something was bothering him.

"Nope," he said, pulling himself off the couch. He hadn't been aware that she'd been leaning on him until the warmth where she had been was gone. "I was just thinking about recommending another movie."

"Tonight?" she asked incredulously, willing to give him the comfort of an out. "Tony, I am tired. Perhaps another night."

"Here, take it with you," he said, reaching for another skinny case from his collection of hundreds. "I think you'll like it."

"Hostage?" she read and took the time to notice the face that occupied the front cover. "It has John McClane in it!"

"Well, he's actually Bruce Willis, but yeah," he said. "It's the same guy."

"Fantastic!" she said and got off the couch. "I will watch it tomorrow while you deal with Gibbs."

He glared, surprised to find himself feeling playful again. "I don't see how you get to sleep in and skip out on work tomorrow while I have to be there the same time as everyone else."

Ziva shrugged and picked her shoes up from the floor. "I am undercover. I need my rest," she flashed him a sarcastic smile. "Bartenders keep long hours, you know."

"I know," he practically snarled. "I had to watch."

"You slept, Tony," she reminded.

"I was awake for most of it," he defended. A thought occurred to him, though, and he felt obligated to mention it despite the fact that it didn't exactly sit well. "I don't think you should come over here again until the case is closed."

Ziva looked up at him, a bit surprised before she figured out the reason. "Someone could see me with you."

Tony nodded. "If you were being followed, you'd blow your cover."

"I agree," she said simply. "Then, when it is over, we will watch the rest of the Die Hard movies."

Tony beamed. "Yeah, okay."

He walked Ziva to the door, with a smile on his face that he wasn't entirely sure he could wipe off. She turned to face him outside the door and he leaned against the doorway, wanting to prolong their contact as long as possible. From there on out, he would only talk to her through an earpiece in MTAC. At least until their murderer was behind bars.

"Watch out for that Drew guy," Tony found himself saying. He hadn't realized it was on his mind until the second the words were out of his mouth.

"Who?"

"The guy you said had come back to talk to you three times," he reminded.

"Oh, him," she said, waving him off. "He was just trying to talk to me. He is no threat."

"You can't be too careful, Ziva," he said, albeit a bit dramatically. Ziva raised an eyebrow at him. "What? You can't."

"I do not believe he is a concern," she reiterated and read between the lines of her partner's subtle speech. "Why do you not like him?"

Tony scoffed. "He's just suspicious. You know… in a general sort of way."

"How so?" she asked, thoroughly enjoying watching Tony squirm under the weight of her interrogation.

"He was totally staring down your shirt."

"You stare down my shirt, Tony," she said and smirked.

He coughed and smiled nervously. "That's different."

"Of course it is," she said, silently reveling in the fact that Tony appeared to be jealous. She would say nothing of it, though. The satisfaction she got from rubbing it in his face would not be worth the grief with which he retaliated.

"Goodnight, Tony," she said, turning from his door to leave.

"Goodnight, Ziva," he returned and watched her walk away. He hoped they caught their guy soon; he didn't think he could go another long stretch of time without seeing her. He'd barely made it the first time, with the imminent threat of never seeing her again looming over his head. Now the threat was gone, and they were separated again. He was beginning to doubt the inevitability of inevitability.

**A/N: Yeah, yeah… ridiculously long. Is that good or bad, you think?**


	5. Suspicious Minds

**Author's Note:**

**I'm so sorry for the delay in this chapter. Midterms and all that—mine is an incredibly cut-throat department—and I just haven't had the time.**

**I hope this makes it all better. lol**

**Chapter Five**

**"Suspicious Minds"**

"Back again, I see," Ziva said on her second night of work as Drew Connor approached the bar. It was the second time that night he'd made his way over. It had been a long night and her shift was almost over, but she hadn't forgotten the one man Tony seemed to be irrationally concerned about.

"I'm a lush. What can I say?" Drew joked and Ziva spared a small laugh, wondering why Tony wasn't sounding off in her ear. For the hour before that, he'd been giving her a scene-by-scene breakdown of the Maltese Falcon. It was white noise, really… something to distract her from the tedium that had occupied most of the night. That and she liked having his voice in her head.

"Either that, or you have some other kind of agenda," she said, masking her very real suspicion with the façade of a joke. She adopted a lower tone of voice. "Are you keeping secrets, Drew?"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, actually, I am."

She raised an eyebrow. "What kind of secret?"

He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "I'm actually a spy. You know, the American James Bond. But cooler."

Ziva laughed because she couldn't help it. If she could see the way Tony was seething miles away, she would have laughed even more.

"Oh, I see," she commented. "And you are here because?"

"Well, I saw this amazing woman in a bar last night, and I just had to come back," he said, still leaning over to her.

"Hmm," Ziva said. "What was she like?"

"Beautiful," he responded. "Stunning, really. Clever. She walked with her head held high; lots of confidence. Long hair and legs for miles. She had these dark brown eyes with flecks of gold in them that seemed to suck every ounce of light from the rest of the room."

"That is a lot of detail," Ziva said quietly, uncomfortable with his incredibly specific assessment of her.

"You're a hard woman to forget, Anna."

Ziva couldn't help the blush in her cheeks, and gave him a small smile in return. Drew was handsome; charming, even. But he wasn't Tony, and so he wasn't enough. She almost felt sorry for him, because he didn't have a chance.

--

"Probie!" Tony shouted, muting the microphone on his headset so Ziva wouldn't hear him shouting in her ear. He was getting impatient waiting for a reply when he realized that McGee was at his own desk, rather than beside Tony like he usually is. His eyes stayed glued to the screen, watching Drew Connor try to sweet-talk his way into Ziva's favor.

He picked up his cell phone and dialed the third number on his caller ID.

"McGee," the voice answered almost robotically.

"Probie, I need you to do a background check," he ordered into the mouthpiece, not waiting for a reply. "The name is Drew Connor."

"That's not exactly a unique name," McGee said, though Tony could hear him typing across the line. "Anything you could narrow it down with?"

"About six-foot-two, 180 pounds, dark hair, blue eyes," he specified. "Call me when you get something."

"Will do," McGee answered and Tony hung up the cell phone before turning his microphone back on.

He was liking this guy less and less as a person, but more and more as a suspect.

An few minutes later, McGee called him back to report that Drew Lansing Conner was thirty-five, never married, and a relatively successful architect from Baltimore.

"Lansing?" Tony asked incredulously. "Like Michigan?"

"Looks like."

"Stupid name," Tony scoffed. "Who would name their kid that?"

"Donald and Flora Connor, also of Baltimore," McGee supplied, knowing beforehand that it had been a rhetorical question. "Tony, he's spotless. Not even a parking ticket."

"No one's spotless, McGullible," Tony said absently into the phone. "That just means he hasn't gotten caught yet."

"But we're going to catch him?"

"We're going to catch him."

"Tony, why are you so convinced that this is our guy?" McGee asked. "He's just been talking to Ziva."

"A lot, Probie," he defended. "It's suspicious."

"I don't know if you've noticed this," McGee said sarcastically, "But lots of guys talk to Ziva."

Tony closed his phone with a loud snap. He didn't need the Probie's lip.

--

After Drew left, promising his return another night, Ziva leaned back on the bar and took a deep breath. It was after midnight and things around the bar had slowed down some. Most of the people were now content to dance or sit and talk, rather than keep drinking. Luckily for Ziva, whose feet had just barely recovered from the night before. She was now wearing her favorite running shoes rather than a pair more at home on the catwalk than on someone's feet. Her eyes drifted over to Leslie, who was still working hard with a smile on her face.

"How do you do this?" Ziva asked.

"Do what?" Leslie replied, wiping down the front of the bar while she topped off a pitcher for the man standing in front of her.

"Keep moving constantly," Ziva explained. "Do you not get tired?"

Leslie shrugged. "I used to. I've been doing this for the better part of ten years, though, so I guess I'm used to it. You will be, too, after a while."

"I hope not," Ziva remarked and Leslie laughed.

"Are you dating anyone?" Leslie asked, taking Ziva aback.

"What do you mean?"

"You know," Leslie said simply. "Dating anyone. Like a boyfriend."

Unintentionally, Tony's face popped into her head.

"No," she said, wondering if she'd managed to hide the regret she felt so strongly. "No, I am not. Why do you ask?"

"That guy earlier was totally hitting on you," Leslie said. "If it was me on the other end of all those pretty words, I would have been a puddle at his feet. You were hard as steel."

Ziva shrugged. "He is nice, I suppose."

"Nice?" Leslie asked, incredulous. "Please. That man's a masterpiece. If you're not dating anyone, you should totally go for it."

Ziva pretended to consider the statement, but ended up shaking her head.

"No, the timing is not right," she said and Leslie sighed mournfully.

"Oh, you're getting over someone," Leslie said knowingly. "But you have to consider that the timing may never be right for that kind of thing. Sometimes it's better to just throw yourself out there."

She had to fight to keep in mind that Tony was listening. "You may be right."

"I usually am," her co-worker joked. "I would go after the cutie myself, but I'm stuck with this loser."

Ziva looked up to see an attractive, taller man walking through the swinging doors with a smirk on his face. His warm smile lit up the green in his eyes and Ziva found herself smiling back at him.

"You must be Kenny. I am Anna," Ziva said, offering her hand to shake. "Leslie has told me about you."

"Should I be worried?" he asked, laughing. "Leslie seems to go back and forth on whether or not she can tolerate me." He wove an arm around Leslie's waist and she playfully swatted him away. Ziva smiled at the happy couple, wondering if she would ever be half of one like it before mentally kicking herself. She sounded ridiculous. She forced herself out of her own head to notice that Kenny had fixed her eyes on her, and seemed to study her for a moment.

"What?" she asked, curious of his attention.

"Just thinking," he said. "We must have two of the hottest bartenders in D.C. I'm a lucky, lucky guy." Leslie laughed and smacked him lightly.

"Behave," she warned. "Don't scare Anna off before her first week. You do the creepy co-worker bit way too well."

"Yeah, whatever," he said. "It's nice to meet you, Anna. Leslie's been telling me about her cool new bartender." He laughed. "And that you wore heels the first day of work."

Ziva groaned. "It was a very, very dire mistake that will never be repeated."

"I bet it won't," he said, wincing. "I think they're torture devices, myself. I can't imagine wearing them."

"Luckily for you, you will never be expected to," Ziva commented.

"True," Kenny replied. "Well, I should be getting back to the kitchen. Greasy bar food isn't going to cook itself."

He waved goodbye and Leslie smiled. "Sometimes, I just don't know what I'd do with myself without him." She looked wistfully at Ziva. "You should make an effort to find someone. When you do, all the other heartbreaks are worth it."

Ziva only laughed awkwardly, praying that Tony had decided to fall asleep rather than listen in to their conversation.

"I will keep that in mind."

--

Tony sat still in his chair, listening to Leslie and Ziva talk about things that would normally have him running in the other direction. He heard the strain in Ziva's voice, though, and was thoroughly curious to see what kind of emotion was behind it. Who was she getting over? The dead man walking? Tony didn't know. She might have left someone behind in Israel, as far as he knew. He'd never had the guts to pick up a phone and call her. The question nagged at him, begging for an answer that he didn't have.

So, instead of making some smart comment, he remained silent to give her the comfort of her thoughts rather than that of his voice. He wished he could see her face; he'd know then if the smile she'd undoubtedly adopted was genuine or a cover for something she wouldn't know how to explain.

In another hour, Ziva was relieved of her post. Tony couldn't help but be grateful; he was tired. Sitting in the same chair for eight hours was torture, not to mention all the other leg work dealing with the case that Gibbs had him doing during the day. Between his day and night job, he thought that the first chance he got, he would be sleeping for a year. He watched Leslie teach Ziva how to close the bar with little interest. He heard Leslie say that the next day Ziva would be doing it on her own. Unfortunately for Tony, that meant tomorrow night he would be sitting in MTAC even longer.

"Move it along, David," he playfully berated. "I want to go home."

"Then go," she said absently under her breath. The mildly sad tone of her voice surprised him.

"You trying to get rid of me?" he asked quietly, wondering what had her so pensive.

"You have been quiet the last few hours," she said while Tony watched her walk to the back, where she could talk to him without worrying about keeping her voice down. "I had started to think that Gibbs had taken over for you."

Tony laughed. "Nah, the boss is probably still downstairs. He didn't leave until I did yesterday."

"Why?"

Tony, shrugged, though she couldn't see it. "I guess if he wants to be the first to jump on it if we get a lead. Which we haven't yet."

"No, we have not," she replied. "I am starting to wonder if this was our best idea. Tomorrow night will not be so busy."

"You'll be able to keep a better eye on everyone, then," he offered.

"Exactly. If he is even the least bit intelligent, he will know not to come on a night that people could more easily notice him."

"Yeah," he said, thinking that she was exactly right. "What are we going to do, then?"

"I have no clue," she said, frustrated. "It is only the second night. It would be too soon to pronounce this operation a failure."

"We could try drawing him out," he said.

"With what? None of the victims had anything in common with the others."

"Except that they were sailors," he corrected. "Three of them were, anyway. That's something."

"Were they wearing their uniforms at the bar?" she asked, an idea striking her.

"I think so, yeah," he replied. "What are you thinking?"

"Another person undercover," she said thoughtfully, working through a plan at light speed in her head.

"Who?"

"McGee."

"Magoo!" Tony said incredulously. "You'd be better off with Gibbs."

"Gibbs would appear to fatherly for the dealer to approach; he probably would not act if Gibbs was even in the building."

"What about me?" Tony asked. "I could do it."

"You could," she allowed, "Except for the fact that everyone here already knows that you are a federal agent."

"It could work," he said. "I could keep off to a side somewhere, be invisible." He added, "It would be a hell of a lot better than sitting here for hours on end."

Ziva hesitated. "I think McGee would be a better option, Tony. There would be far less chance of anyone in the building recognizing him."

"We can't spare him, Ziva," Gibbs said suddenly, entering the room. Tony sat up straight and made a quick attempt to hide the remainder of a candy bar in his pocket.

"You sure, boss?" Tony asked, unwillingly supporting Ziva's idea. "Ziva and I don't seem to be getting anywhere on our own."

"McGee is helping Abby," he said and faced the screen. He motioned for Tony's headset.

"Ziva?" he asked into the microphone.

"Gibbs," she said, a little surprised to hear his voice.

"McGee is working on a security camera feed from the bar," he informed. "We can't give him to you right now."

"I see," Ziva said, pacing the small room she occupied. "What are my options, then? I do not seem to be making progress alone."

Gibbs looked over at Tony. "DiNozzo will stake the place out."

"Will they not recognize him?"

"Not if he does his job," Gibbs told her, sending Tony a very pointed look. "Just keep an eye out, both of you."

**A/N: Okay, so I had to get Tony and Ziva back together. Even if it's only temporarily. I couldn't take them being apart, either. **


	6. Suspicious Minds Pt II

**Author's Note:**

**I separated chapter five into two chapters, because if I hadn't it would have been hella long. That, and I wanted to give you all an update sooner than I would have finished the mega-chapter.**

**Chapter Six**

"**Suspicious Minds Pt. II"**

Tony was thrilled; there was no other way to put it. Not only was he out of MTAC, moving around—he was going to be staking out the bar, to keep a look-out for their killer as well as keeping an appreciative eye on his partner. McGee would be the one bored out of his mind that night; he was sitting up in MTAC at that very moment. Tony almost found himself dancing around his apartment while he changed out of that day's suit and looked for something less conspicuous in his closet. He decided on plain black slacks and a crisp white shirt, deciding that amongst all the navy attire, he would be relatively unnoticed.

He placed his earpiece in his ear and checked it; he was able to hear both McGee and Ziva's voice. Feeling a little bit like James Bond, he hooked the small Catholic medal around his neck and turned on the camera. McGee informed him that they had visual and he walked out the door of his apartment, intending to take his time getting there. It was better that he get to the bar after it was already busy so there would be less chance of anyone noticing him.

The parking lot wasn't quite full when he arrived but he walked in anyway, hoping there were enough people there to make his arrival unnoticed. Luckily, a mass of people made it almost impossible for him to work his way around to the back of the bar. He hoped it would be enough to shield him from anyone who might be watching. He picked a booth that had a view of both the rest of the bar and of the bartenders. Watching Ziva, he spoke softly into his microphone.

"Why aren't you doing all the fancy stuff you did the other night?" he asked, referring to the small feats she'd been doing in front of Gilbert. It was impressive to watch her twirl, throw, and catch heavy bottles of liquor.

If he startled her, she didn't show it. "Because I am busy, and it takes too much time." He saw her flick her eyes quickly around the bar. "I do not see you."

"Near the back," he instructed and met her eyes for a split second before she went back to the task at hand. "Anything interesting yet tonight?"

"Not a thing," she whispered.

--

An hour later, Tony was still sitting alone at his booth and consumed with staring at people who regarded him like a potential threat. It wasn't because he was a federal agent; it was because he was staring them down like a psycho killer. He felt a little like a creep, but didn't let the sensation bother him too much. He had a job to do, so he didn't really concern himself with what random people thought he was doing.

He spared a minute every now and then to watch the gorgeous Israeli behind the bar. Ziva had dressed incredibly well that night; Tony thought the dark blue fabric brought out the gold in her skin. God, he loved her in blue.

_Focus, DiNozzo. That's not why you're here._

"Tony, how are you doing?" McGee asked in his ear.

"Super, Probie," he said, looking down at his beer. "Nothing yet. It would help if I knew who I was looking for."

"We didn't get much from the security camera," McGee said, thinking of the few threadbare seconds of footage that showed only the man's lower half. "Male. Anywhere from six foot to six-foot-four in height."

"That's only every other person in here, McGee."

"Sorry, Tony, that's all we have. He made sure to stay out of the camera angles."

"At least that tells us he knows the place," Tony remarked, focusing once again on the faces in the crowd. A few giggling girls passed by to give him flirtatious smiles and waves. He returned their smile—he wouldn't be Anthony DiNozzo if he didn't—but said nothing. They seemed silly and frivolous compared to the only other woman in the bar he was interested in watching.

Tony was considering asking her for another beer when another man sitting alone at a table not far from his caught his eye. The man was staring into the glass in his hand, obviously thinking about something miles away from what was in front of his face. Tony knew the look, and knew it well. He silently wished the man the best and got up from his perch in time to see Drew Connor walking up to the bar. His blood might have boiled a bit, but he wasn't going to show it. Tony DiNozzo didn't get jealous. No way.

"Told you I'd be back," Drew said to Ziva as he pulled himself atop a bar stool.

"So you did," she said absently as she poured him a mug of the same beer he'd been ordering all weekend. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Just wanted to see you," he said. "How have you been?"

Ziva stifled a laugh. "Fine. And you?"

"Still waiting on that phone number," he replied jokingly.

"You will be waiting for a while," she warned. "There are many other women in here. You are an attractive man; I'm sure you could do well with any of them."

"I don't want any of them," he informed her carefully. "I want you."

Before Ziva could answer, Leslie interrupted with a fierce look on her face.

"Careful, buddy," she said, stepping over from her side of the bar. "If she doesn't like you, she doesn't like you."

"It is fine, Leslie," Ziva said, eyeing her coworker. She'd been anxious all night. "He is just persistent."

"Okay," Leslie said, eyeing him. "Let me know if he gets to be a problem."

"I will," she assured and Leslie went back to her previous task. Ziva stared at the woman for a moment; she was much too agitated.

"Am I bothering you?" Drew asked quietly and Ziva gave him a small smile.

"Not at the moment," she said honestly and let herself fall into silence. She waited on another patron and Drew watched intently, fascinated by her fluid but efficient movements. Captivated completely by her, he didn't notice the other man who took a seat on his right side.

"How's it going?" the man asked quickly, signaling for another beer. Drew gave him a quick glance, but his eyes were soon locked elsewhere again.

"Good," he said politely. "Yourself?"

"Ah, can't complain," the man said.

Drew nodded and turned his attention back to the woman working diligently behind the bar, which had returned to his end of the bar and looked with obvious surprise at the man next to him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him. Drew turned.

"Do you know each other?" he asked, trying to hide his disappointment. He should have known that a woman like her had a boyfriend.

"Yeah--"

"No--"

Ziva glared at Tony, daring him to say something. "We used to know each other."

"Anna and I went steady for a while," Tony said obnoxiously, ignoring McGee's yelling in his ear about ruining everything. He met Ziva's eyes; it was a challenge.

"But I left you," she said emphatically. "You need to take a clue."

"Get a clue, take a hint," Tony corrected reflexively, fixing her with a bright smile. "But I missed you, sweetcheeks. We can talk."

"Stop calling me that. I do not want to talk," she said slowly, making her intention perfectly clear. "Please leave. I am sure you have something more important to worry about."

Tony wasn't blind; he could see that she was mad. Furious, even. Even more specifically than that, she was furious at him. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew that he was being a complete asshole. What he was doing wasn't the best idea he'd ever had, and his idiot move was probably compromising his cover. If Drew really was their guy, he was probably going to be in the wind any moment and the time and money spent on Ziva going undercover would be completely wasted.

"Excuse me for a moment," Drew said, climbing off the stool. "Anna, I'll be back."

Tony and Ziva watched his retreating form before turning to each other silently. Ziva looked like she didn't exactly know where to start and Tony kept his eyes on hers, determined not to show a speck of remorse in the face of her righteous anger. When the silence seemed to stretch on infinitely against the din around them, Ziva spoke.

"I think you should leave."

Tony sighed. "I'll go back to my corner," he said, turning from the bar just after Leslie had come to stand beside Ziva.

"How do you two know each other?" she asked, but continued when they said nothing. "You just told that other guy that you'd dated."

Ziva looked down. "It was a long time ago."

Tony said nothing, fearing that whatever he said would only serve to make Ziva angrier.

"You're the cop who was in here a few days ago, asking questions about those dead guys," she said, and Tony mentally slapped the back of his head. His idiot move might cost Ziva her cover.

Instead, Ziva whirled around with fire in her eyes. "You told her you were a cop?"

Tony caught her drift. "I was trying to see you."

"This has gone on long enough," Ziva said. "Impersonating police is a federal offense. Do you want to go to prison?"

"Of course not, I just—"

"Are you stalking my friend?" Leslie asked, putting the spotlight on Tony, who looked up with a completely shocked expression.

"What? No."

"Then leave," Leslie ordered. "Cop or no, she doesn't want you here. Leave."

He was going to argue until Gibbs' voice sounded off in his ear.

"DiNozzo, get out of there. Now," he growled. "I want you in my office in twenty minutes." It was an elevator ride Tony wasn't looking forward to.

"Yeah, okay," he said to both Gibbs and two women in front of him. "I'm leaving." He climbed off the barstool without as much as a parting glance. Drew passed him on the way back, but dared say nothing after seeing the look on Tony's face.

Tony was almost to the door when a sudden commotion to his periphery caught his attention. A woman yelled for help and, ignoring Gibbs' order, he pushed his way through the crowd to find a man writhing on the ground. Tony recognized him immediately as the man he'd seen earlier that night, and—forgetting that he was supposed to be leaving—he ordered everyone around him to back up, using every ounce of authority he could muster. For someone who could easily slip into the role of overwhelming self-importance, it wasn't difficult.

The man violently jerked and flailed in the throes of a seizure, and Tony bent down beside him to try and hold him down to prevent further injury. He heard somewhere that you were supposed to keep epileptic patients from swallowing their own tongue, but he hadn't the slightest clue how to prevent it. Ziva materialized at his side and kneeled to hold down the man's legs. People gawked and murmured around them, and Ziva looked to Leslie.

"Leslie!" she called, grunting against the force of the man's seizure. "Leslie!"

"I'm here," she said, fighting her way through the crowd surrounded them. Her eyes widened with the sight of the man on the floor. "Wh-what can I do?"

"Call an ambulance," Ziva instructed. "Tell them the man has been poisoned with cyanide." Leslie stared, but hadn't seemed to find the ability to move. Ziva didn't have time or the inclination to allow for her temporary paralysis.

"Now!" she exclaimed, and jolted her out of her trance. Leslie jumped back to life with a start and ran back through the throng of people, around the bar where they kept their courtesy phone. Her fingers seemed to hum with anxious energy and she jerkily pressed the buttons, rattling off Ziva's instructions when the dispatcher answered.

Within ten minutes, the man had been secured on a gurney and was being rushed to the nearest hospital. Ziva and Tony stood back to let the medics do their job, but couldn't help catching each other's eye. They both seemed to express what neither of them would say; they'd blown it. If Tony was where he was supposed to be instead of worrying about some loser who was a little too enthusiastic about Ziva, they would have been able to catch the guy. The thought weighed them down.

A few minutes after the medics left, Gibbs and McGee walked in the door. Playing his role, still afraid that someone might still be watching, he paid them little notice. In turn, Gibbs and McGee didn't look twice at either him or Ziva. They looked on as McGee collected the physical evidence and took pictures, while Gibbs interviewed witnesses. For appearance's sake, he worked his way around to Tony.

"You're the one who restrained him," he said, pretending to write something down.

"Yeah," he said, straining to leave the "boss" out of the sentence.

"Name?"

"Tony," he said.

"You got a last name, Tony?" Gibbs asked, fixing him with a hard stare that he knew was completely genuine. Tony had to fight not to gulp.

"DiNardo," he said finally, relying on the cover he'd used what felt like lifetimes before.

"You did okay, Tony," Gibbs said; his version of forgiveness. Tony was comforted by the gesture only briefly—some sort of punishment was undoubtedly soon to follow.

Tony diverted his eyes while Gibbs pretended to ask Ziva questions, but paid a little more attention when he talked to the rest of the bar. There was a good chance the guy hadn't gotten an opportunity to get out of there yet. He almost grinned when Gibbs brought his stare down on Drew, who stood only a few feet behind Ziva with a shell-shocked look on his face.

"Name?" Gibbs asked reflexively.

"Uh… Drew. Drew Connor," the man answered nervously. Tony loved seeing him squirm.

"How do you know Mr. Cunningham, Drew?" Gibbs asked. Tony guessed Cunningham was the name of the victim.

"I didn't," he said and was answered only by the Gibbs stare. "Well, not really. We both come here a lot, so I knew his name. Not really anything else."

"A couple of other people said they saw you talking to him a few minutes before he started seizing," Gibbs pointed out ruthlessly. Tony thought back, and remembered that in the midst of his flubbing with Ziva, Drew had gone off somewhere. He'd passed him on his way out the door.

"Yeah! I saw him, said hello, and went to the bathroom," Drew practically squeaked. "I didn't hurt him! I wouldn't have a reason to!"

"Not everyone needs a reason, Mr. Connor," Gibbs replied stonily and walked away, leaving Drew anxious and lost in his thoughts.

--

Two hours later, the bar had been cleared out and closed for the rest of the night. Ziva was alone and cleaning diligently, keeping her mind off of the night's events. She couldn't help thinking that maybe Tony had been right; Drew had left the bar and had come back in just enough time to poison the man. The thought disturbed her more than it should have. It she admitted that Tony had been right it would be admitting that she was wrong. She didn't always have a problem with that kind of thing, but she was usually exactly right when it came to people. It bothered her that she might be losing her touch.

She remained deep in her thoughts while she walked throughout the bar, picking up glasses and bottles from the deserted tables. The place looked like a stampede had come through and Ziva had a feeling she wouldn't be leaving for a while. She was thinking about Drew when Leslie walked back in the door, eyes red and clutching her handbag to her chest.

"Hey," she said weakly, and Ziva started. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay here, on your own."

"I am fine," Ziva said, leaning against a table. "You did not scare me. I just cannot seem to focus tonight."

"I know. Me either," Leslie said. "I knew about the other deaths, but they never happened here so I didn't think about it. Here, it's so personal."

Ziva nodded. "Death can be like that." She walked back to the bar and put her rag down. Her eyes caught a flash of something metallic to her left and she looked to see Tony's cell phone lying on the bar. She almost laughed to think of Gibbs' reaction when he didn't have his phone, but smothered the thought quickly. She would have no way of getting it to him.

"He left his phone," Leslie observed. "If you want I can take it to him. I headed out now, anyway. That way you won't have to see him."

"No, it is fine," Ziva said, tucking the phone in her back pocket. "If I do not face him and get the entire situation worked out, it will only continue."

"You sure?" Leslie asked. "Just give me the address and I can throw it through his window or something."

Ziva laughed. "Yes, I am sure. Tony is harmless; just obsessive."

"I meant to ask you before I left," Leslie said, leaving all conversation of Tony in the dust. "But I forgot. How did you know it was cyanide?"

Ziva blinked, taken aback, but quickly answered, "I know the symptoms. In Costa Rica, my father was a doctor."

"Ah," Leslie said. "Okay, then. I think I'll leave you to it. Kenny's waiting for me outside."

"Have a good night," Ziva said.

"You, too," Leslie returned and turned to walk out the door. She still held the bag to her chest; the revolver inside made it heavier. It pissed her off that she hadn't been able to use it.

She spotted Kenny's car in the lot and walked to it, climbing in the passenger's side.

"Well?" Kenny asked, starting up the engine. "What happened?"

"She's a cop," Leslie said. "I can feel it."

"So why didn't you waste her?" Kenny said, feeling his temper licking at him. "Make it look like a suicide, plant the cyanide on her. It's a fucking piece of cake job, Les."

"You're a moron," she spat back. "If she's undercover, they'll know she wasn't the one who killed those other guys. And then they'll come looking for us."

Kenny admitted that this was true. "Does she know anything?"

"I don't think so," Leslie said. "I think she's hung up on that other bastard, the cop."

"Then what are we going to do?" he asked seriously. The longer they had a cop hanging around the more likely they were to get caught.

"I don't know yet," she said. "Any ideas from the peanut gallery?"

Kenny frowned. "I could follow her. If she, say, _disappears_, they wouldn't have any evidence to hold against us. She doesn't suspect us yet."

"That's true," Leslie said, thinking. "The other cop, the one with the gray hair, was pretty focused on the other guy. The one that's been hanging around Anna. If she goes missing, he's going to be the one they pin it on."

"Then that's the plan," Kenny said. "Go ahead and go home. I'll meet you there when I'm done with her."

--

Ziva pulled out of the empty parking lot just after midnight. Her first stop would be Tony's, to give him his cell phone back and see if they'd made any headway on the case. She was still convinced that Drew wasn't the killer, but not only because of her personal convictions. Everything in her seemed to scream that Drew was a dead end. Killers she knew and understood; Drew was no killer.

Deep in these thoughts, she was too distracted to realize the black Honda masking itself with traffic as it followed her.

**A/N: The plot has thickened! What happens next? Press the little button down there, and I'll tell you. lol**


	7. Extended Vacation

**Author's Note:**

**Here we are… the beginning of the good stuff. I hope you all enjoy!**

**Oh, and your reviews are all so wonderful. They make my day, no lie.**

**Chapter Seven**

"**Extended Vacation"**

Tony sat back on his couch, fighting every urge he had to not go into the kitchen for a glass of liquid stress reliever. He closed his eyes and could taste the fire as it coursed its way down his throat and through his tired body. Enough of it, and everything clouding his brain could magically disappear. The idea was unbearably tempting, but not enough to give in to. Tony had promised himself that he wouldn't keep using alcohol as a crutch, and he intended to keep that promise. It wasn't hard until he lied down at night and saw Jenny's blind eyes staring up at him from a cold tile floor covered in her own blood.

And now. Now, it was hard. Now that he considered the fact that his own idiocy might have put an entire investigation in jeopardy. He wondered idly if he would get fired. Why not? He'd already botched other assignments, one of which ended in his own broken heart and the other ending with the life of a good friend being taken prematurely. This was his third strike, and he was certain Vance would throw him out. Federal agencies didn't have room for fuck-ups like him.

What would he do? He could go back to being a metro cop, if they would have him back. He didn't exactly hate the work, but he liked NCIS better. His family was there, as trite as it sounded. Gibbs was like a father where his own father hadn't been, and Abby and McGee were his dorky but lovable siblings. Ducky was the quirky uncle who can't keep his stories to himself. And Ziva? he thought. Where was she in this analogy?

The thought of losing all of them again had his stomach rolling far more than the idea of being fired had. He had gotten up to get a bottle from the kitchen when a knock sounded at the door. Taking the interruption philosophically, he looked through the small hole in the top of the door to see Ziva standing on his doorstep. Although surprised, he opened the door to allow her in.

"Ziva," he said, watching her walk in. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to return this," she said, holding his cell phone out in her hand. "You left it on the bar."

Tony stared at the device with abject terror rising like bile in his throat.

"Oh my God. Gibbs is going to kill me."

"Not if you hurry and call him back," she pointed out and he nodded, swallowing the trepidation that had built up in his chest.

He turned the phone on and found that he had three voicemails and seven missed calls from McGee. Two missed calls from Gibbs. Between his behavior that night and ignoring the phone calls, Tony was certain that he was getting fired. He couldn't seem to do anything right lately. It killed him to think he might have been better off as an agent afloat.

"I am guessing you know nothing new about the case, then," Ziva said, sitting on the arm of his couch.

"I'm about to," he said, wincing as he dialed Gibbs' number. He wasn't exactly surprised when the voice on the other end sounded nothing short of hostile.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs yelled into the phone. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Home, boss," he said as apologetically as he could without saying the actual words. "I left my phone at the bar. Ziva just brought it to me."

"Get here, DiNozzo," he ordered and Tony heard the line go dead.

"Yes, boss," he said and closed the phone, turning to Ziva. "Apparently my presence is required."

"Just as well," she said. "I am going home."

"I'll call you later," he said, grabbing his jacket and keys. "Maybe we'll have some new evidence on Drew before the end of the night. Any luck, and we'll have him locked up by Wednesday."

Ziva stopped. "What did you say?"

"New evidence on your boyfriend," he joked, but suddenly wished he could take it back when he saw the look on his partner's face. It was a cross between frustration and absolute fury. "Whoa. I was kidding. I didn't mean he was your boyfriend." _Because I'd kill him, _he added silently.

"Why is it that you always assume the men who pay attention to me are guilty of something?" she asked.

Instead of backpedaling, like any self-respecting man would have done, Tony saw fit to challenge her right back.

"Are you defending him, Zee-vah?" he asked, taunting her. He knew exactly which buttons to push; a side-effect of working with her for so long. It worked like a charm, though he had no idea if he was happy about it or not.

"I believe he is innocent, Tony," she said.

"Yeah, okay," Tony mocked. "Except for the fact that he was seen talking to the victim minutes before he collapsed, and he was nowhere to be found for a space of about ten minutes. It's plenty of time for a drug deal."

"There were no drugs recovered at the scene," she said immediately. She'd been watching the evidence collection carefully.

"Okay, it was in his glass, then," Tony said. "Either way, he had plenty of time to do it while we weren't watching him."

"And why were we not watching him, Tony?" she asked. "Because instead of staying away, staying _silent, _you thought it would be a good idea to approach him and get into your little urinating competition."

Tony paused, but didn't feel the humor. "Pissing match."

"Whatever," she said, exasperated and angry. "If you had stayed where you were, one of us might have seen something. Instead, I had to worry about convincing Leslie that you were not a cop and that I had nothing to do with the investigation."

Her words stung him a bit. Probably more than they would have if they hadn't been the truth.

"I know," he said quietly. "I know I screwed up. But that doesn't mean that Drew isn't our best suspect right now. You need to put whatever feelings you have for him aside and figure that out before it's too late."

"Leave me out of this," she seethed. "This is about your issues, not mine."

"My issues?" he laughed. Sarcasm dripped from every word. "I'm just fine. You're the one who's sticking up for a serial killer."

"He is not a serial killer," she said strongly. She suddenly found herself more forceful than she would have considered when it came to Tony. "And you are just jealous. Just because you cannot stay objective does not mean that I am incapable as well."

"I am perfectly capable of being objective," he defended, knowing somewhere deep down that it wasn't exactly true. He chose to ignore the comment about being jealous, seeing as how it was mostly right.

"Except with Jeanne," she said. It was the truth, and yet it stung. It hurt even more when it was Ziva who threw the words at him to begin with.

Tony blinked, surprised. "I see. Remind me again, how did everything turn out with Roy?"

It was a low blow. He knew it, and did it anyway. He tried telling himself that it was justified, but all the prods in the world about Jeanne wouldn't do the same damage. Jeanne was alive. She was off somewhere, going on with her life, but she was alive. Roy wasn't. The haunted look that came into Ziva's eyes for the quickest of moments reminded him of that all too well. But the words were there, hanging malevolently between them, and there wasn't a single thing he could do to take them back.

Ziva remembered the last time Tony had brought up Roy. It had been in the men's restroom at NCIS, and it had hurt her just as much then as it did now. She'd healed; his memory didn't stab through her like it used to. If anyone else had brought it up, she could have answered ambivalently and pretended that she'd never loved a dying man. But anyone else didn't bring it up; Tony did. The one man she was willing to put every barrier aside for was the reason she needed them in the first place.

They stared at each other for a moment, saying nothing. They both wondered if the damage just incurred was permanent. At that moment, Tony would have given anything in the world to take away the pain he'd brought to her face. He remembered thinking every other time she'd adopted the same expression, that he would have killed anyone who'd done it to her. He never would have thought that meant he would hate himself the same way.

Ziva just wanted to disappear. The man she loved had purposefully thrown an old wound in her face and she didn't think she had the strength to face him. He would see the heartbreak, and he would pity her. Pity had never been something she wanted or needed. Especially from him.

"Goodbye, Tony," she said quietly, breaking him into a thousand tiny pieces. He wanted her to yell, to scream, to hit him. He would sit and take it while she beat the hell out of him if it meant that she wouldn't walk out of his life. But walk was exactly what she did; she was gone before he had the presence of mind to make her stop.

He listened to the echo of the door closing for a long minute before he realized that she wasn't coming back.

--

Ziva climbed in her car and turned the key in the ignition, immediately turning off the radio. She didn't need the noise; her mind was loud enough. Tony's patronizing voice was still ringing in her ears, reminding her that this was the man she'd fallen in love with. The one who could hurt the easiest was the only one she wanted to be with. At that moment in time, she despised herself. She loved Tony despite his words, but she hated herself.

It would be so much easier if she didn't want him. She could take his little comments at face value, give him a black eye for the insolence, and go on her way with a smile on her face. If she didn't care, it wouldn't have been his face she saw every night in Israel. He wouldn't have occupied every thought for months. If she didn't love him, the pain buried deep in her chest wouldn't be there.

These thoughts continued for her entire drive home. She drove slower than usual, content to wallow in her thoughts rather than set a land speed record. She hardly remembered parking the car or locking it; her brain didn't kick back in until she was almost to her door. Her senses hadn't completely kicked in until she had walked through the door and she felt the kiss of cold steel against the small of her back. Instinct kicked in then, and she moved to rid her would-be attacker of his weapon. They anticipated the move, however, and pushed her forward. She stumbled and turned around to face him, reaching to her hip for a gun that wasn't there.

"Not so fast, Anna," Kenny said, keeping the barrel of the Glock aimed directly at her face. "Take it easy."

"Kenny?" Ziva asked incredulously. "What are you doing?"

"Self-preservation, sweetheart," he said. He held up the badge she'd left lying on a table. He read the name aloud, and brutalized its pronunciation. "Ziva David, Naval Criminal Investigative Service. I guess Leslie was right. You are a cop."

She turned up her chin defiantly and looked him square in the eye. She had a gun in a drawer only a few feet away; if she could get there, everything would be fine. She could shoot the bastard, point Gibbs and the rest of the team in the right direction, and the case would be closed. All she needed was an excuse to open the damn drawer.

He eyed her curiously. "What are you thinking about, Ziva?"

"The quickest way to kill you," she said honestly, indifferent to whatever action he decided to take. Men like him hadn't scared her in a long time.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that," he said. "See, I have this backup plan all worked out. If I don't check in at a certain time with a certain phone number, someone dies."

"Are you going to kill me, Kenny?" Ziva asked, almost amused.

"Oh, not you," he said, shaking his head. "You're just going to disappear for a while." He grinned manically. It reminded Ziva of a piranha. "It's your buddy that's going to get it."

"Buddy?" she asked conversationally, using her misunderstanding to hide the fact that her heart had leapt into her throat. "Do you mean Drew?"

"No, the other one," he said and scratched his head in thought. "Oh, what the hell was his name? Oh! That's right... Tony."

Sudden, paralyzing fear gripped her so hard she couldn't breathe and time seemed to slow as she watched Kenny laugh at the horrified look on her face. All she could think of was the fact that the last time she saw Tony, they'd fought. She'd said terrible things to him, with the intention of hurting him. She had no escape plan now; she wasn't going to risk moving even a muscle if it meant Tony's life and not her own.

"Do you have him, too?" she heard herself ask. She didn't know how she'd managed to speak; as far as she knew, she had yet to breathe.

"Tony? Nah," he said nonchalantly. "He's at home, probably working off steam from that argument you had." He paused to appreciate the look on her face. "That's right, I was there."

"Are you going to kill him?"

"Not planning on it," he said. "Unless you decide to fight us. My friend's keeping an eye on him for now. I don't check in, Tony gets plugged. You resist, try to pull anything, and it's the same deal."

"They will look for me," she informed him. "You cannot expect a federal agent to disappear and no one notice."

"Yeah, see, I had time to think about that while you and lover boy were duking it out," he said. "Way I see it, they don't investigate people who just take off."

She eyed him. "What do you mean?"

"This is how it's gonna go," he instructed, leaning against the doorway with his gun still aimed carefully at her. She could tell by his stance that he wasn't playing with the weapon; the man could probably aim well enough to fatally wound a moving target. "We're gonna go back there, and you're going to pack your bags."

She stared at him curiously. "You cannot be serious. I am taking luggage?"

"Call it an extended vacation," he said with the ghost of an amused smile. "We'll take the bags out to the car, real nice like, and we'll take a little drive. You cooperate, and Tony wakes up in the morning fit as a fiddle."

"And what happens to me then?" she asked pointedly. She was no martyr; she had no intention of dying needlessly.

"We'll talk about that when we get there," he said. "No use in worrying about something that might be quite a ways ahead."

"Then you leave me no choice," she said, resigning herself with a tired sigh. She kept her eyes locked on his gun. "Do not shoot. I am moving to pack my things."

"Ladies first," he said with a sly smile, following her down a dimly lit hallway. He didn't worry too much about her jumping him; she seemed pretty spooked at the idea that the other guy could get hurt. Confident that the night would go smoothly, he hummed a tune as he walked and let a little bounce come into his step. The whole kidnapping thing was turning out to be a lot easier than he'd thought.

He watched carefully as she pulled suitcases out of a large closet and at them on the bed, watching for anything that could have been considered a signal to the rest of her team. She worked quickly and quietly, all her movements brisk and efficient. She folded clothes with military precision and placed them in the suitcase until the suitcases were full. He watched her pile in a few pairs of shoes with little interest and zip up all the cases, saying nothing as she went. She looked up at him when she was done.

"I am finished," she said. "What now?"

"Let's take a walk," he said, gesturing toward the bedroom door. "Oh, wait a second. I forgot something."

Ziva stopped in her tracks, a suitcase in each hand. "What now?"

"Cell phone," he said simply, extending a hand for it. Ziva stared for a moment before placing the desired device in his open palm. "They have GPS in everything, nowadays. Can't take any chances."

She watched, saying nothing, as he took the battery out and tossed the two pieces on the bed. They had almost walked out of the room when, to Ziva's dismay, he turned back around to pick up the phone.

"Forgot," he said simply and pulled his shirt sleeve over his fist to rub the phone down. "Fingerprints and all that. Go ahead and touch it a few times for me, will you?"

Ziva complied, though she wasn't quiet sure why. It bothered her that Kenny kept his tone so congenial, it was unnerving to think that the madness they had surrounded themselves with sounded like ordinary conversation. She wanted him to scream, to curse, to lunge at her. Instead he walked back down the hall with his gun hanging at his side, humming a song she didn't know. It was no comfort at all to know that he was in his right mind. Sometimes the sane ones were the ones you had to worry about.

They had almost walked out the door when an idea occurred to her. It may not work, but if anyone understood it would be Tony.

"Wait," she said, stopping in her tracks.

Kenny turned. "Don't start causing problems now, sweetheart. You've been so good."

"I am not," she said and brought a hand to the gold Star of David around her neck. "I have to leave this."

He stared, curious. "Why?"

"It is a GPS locator," she lied, albeit flawlessly.

"Why would you tell me that?" he asked, eyeing her. If it was a trick, he didn't know where it was going. If the look in her eyes was any indication, there was a good chance she was telling the truth.

"You have my partner," she said. "If you had found out later, he would die. I am not willing to risk his life for my rescue."

Kenny only smiled. "Good thinking, pretty girl. Go ahead, then."

Ziva pulled hard on the pendant, feeling the links snap and fall to the ground. She bent to pick them up and sat them aside on a table to her left. Kenny followed the movement with his eyes, resting finally on a random object she'd almost forgotten she had.

"Hmm," he said, eyeing it and turning the title to face him. "Good movie."

"I have not seen it yet," she said, and picked up the handle of her suitcase. "I still hope to, eventually."

Kenny chuckled. "Honestly, sweetheart? I wouldn't count on it."

She let him lead her out the door and locked it behind her, leaving her fractured pendant lying atop the DVD Tony had given her days before.

Hostage.


	8. Ghost of You

**Author's Note:**

**You guys are great, really. The reviews I'm getting are flat-out amazing. Thank you all so much. I hope you enjoy the next installment!**

**Chapter Eight**

"**Ghost of You"**

"What about my car?" Ziva asks as they walk down the hall. "It would not make much sense if you let me drive it."

"Well, you're right about that," Kenny allowed, holding the door open for Ziva as she passed. She noticed absently that he had tucked his gun into the waistband on his jeans. "That's why we're leaving it here."

"Will that not be suspicious?" she asked, following as he led her around to a black Honda parked at the curb. "Everyone knows I drive everywhere I go."

"Not this time, you don't," he said, popping the trunk. "We'll just leave them to conjecture about your means of transportation."

He loaded the first of her suitcases into the trunk. The entire situation was surreal, and Ziva found herself staring absently at his movements. It was almost impossible for her brain to register that this was a kidnapping and not a weekend at the lake. She was half expecting him to order her to climb in the trunk with the bags when he closed the hatch.

"You are not making me ride in the trunk?" she asked. She didn't know why it mattered, really; she knew how to get out of a trunk, but she wasn't going to try anything. She was taking his threat on Tony's life very seriously.

"Do I need to?" he asked and Ziva shook her head. "Good. Let's hit the road, shall we?"

They climbed in their opposite sides of the car and Kenny immediately ordered her to buckle up.

"Safety first," he said with a grin. "It's just a bit of a ride, so you'll want to relax a bit."

"Where are we going?" she asked, fear starting to creep in at the edges of her consciousness. The initial shock had worn off completely, and now anxiety had made her restless. She shifted uncomfortably in the seat and Kenny navigated toward the interstate.

"Just somewhere out of the way," he answered cryptically. He looked absently down at the clock. "Oh, hell. I need to check in."

Ziva's eyes darted up to meet him, silently wondering if it had been too late already. Would Tony's life have ended so unceremoniously? She didn't think it was possible to have let something so life-altering go by so unnoticed.

"Don't worry," he said, noticing her expression. "I've still got five minutes. I just have to give him a call."

Ziva watched as he punched in a few random numbers. She didn't see the actual digits; he kept the keypad turned away from her. Kenny put the phone to his ear and Ziva watched intently, praying that the voice on the other line didn't say it was too late. A few seconds later Kenny spoke, though Ziva couldn't hear the person on the other line.

"Hey, it's me," he said. A pause. "Nah, leave him be for now. Anna—oh, I'm sorry—_Ziva _has been just fine. Playing along quite nicely. Uh-huh. Bye." He turned to Ziva, who glared with unadulterated loathing. "See? No worries."

"It is cruel, what you are doing," she said, staring idly out the window. She fought the tears pricking the backs of her eyelids. She would rather die than let him see her cry.

"What's that?" he asked. "Killing those guys?" Ziva said nothing. "Or letting all your friends and family believe that you took off without a word? "

She took a deep breath. "Both."

"Just looking out for my best interests," he said and laughed a little under his breath. He added, "Hey, just look at the bright side."

"Which is?"

"I put your partner's life in your hands," he reminded. "I could have just told my friend to take care of it. This way, you control what happens to him. I think that's pretty reasonable."

"You are a bastard," she said. "You are using him to control me."

"If you hadn't decided to poke your nose around the place you would have been having makeup sex instead of hanging out with me," he said, his voice gaining an unpleasant edge to it. "This is your own damn fault."

"I had not even suspected you," she said honestly. It was a poor reflection on her skills as a federal agent, but it was the truth. "If you had not followed me tonight, I might never have figured it out."

"I doubt that," he said, glancing over at her. "You're a sharp one, Ziva. You would have figured it out. Especially after this last one."

"What about him?" she asked. "You did something differently, yes?"

"Something like that," he said. "It wasn't really safe to keep up with the whole drug thing, so we retired it."

"It was not about the drugs?" she asked.

Kenny scoffed. "Nah. It's not my thing, really." He laughed. "Not since college, anyway."

"So what?" she asked. "You just wanted to kill people?"

"You sure are asking a lot of questions," he said skeptically. "You're not wired, are you?"

"No," she said quickly, afraid his suspicion would get Tony killed. "I am not."

"Okay," he allowed. "But I'm tired of this conversation already. Why don't you go to sleep and I'll wake you when we get there."

"I am not tired," she lied. She was exhausted, but too wary to close her eyes.

"I'll give you a hand, then," he said as his fist collided with the hard bone of her jaw. Her head sagged to her shoulders and he shook his fist out, knowing already that it was going to bruise. He turned the country station on the radio up and sang along, pleased that everything had gone so smoothly. To anyone who happened to be looking into the car as they drove, Ziva would look blissfully asleep and he would look like an average guy driving to wherever.

No one would suspect a federal agent was being held captive, or that they were making their way toward her untimely demise.

--

Tony woke with a blinding migraine and an almost unbearable weight on his chest. His first thought was the flu, but the immediate second thought was complete and paralyzing guilt. The look on Ziva's face flashed back into his mind and he groaned into the pillow, confident that if he wished hard enough the memory would disappear completely. After five minutes, it still hadn't. He rolled out of bed and headed for the shower, convinced that all the hot water in the world wouldn't change the fact that he'd hurt his partner and best friend.

Within thirty minutes he was showered and dressed, staring at his own face in the mirror. He did look older, he decided. Rather than deal with the implications that came with the thought, he tied his tie and applied gel to the damp mass of hair on the top of his head. When it had molded itself into the patented blend of messy and clean cut that personified his style, he left it alone. Strangely, looking good didn't do much to improve his mood. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew only one thing would.

He reached for his phone before his pride convinced him to change his mind. His fingers danced across they keyboard mindlessly; they had long ago memorized the cadence that would lead him to Ziva's voice. Leaning against the door like he had the night before after she'd walked out, he pressed the phone against his ear waiting for her to answer. To his surprise, the phone didn't even ring. Instead, her voicemail picked up.

"You have reached Ziva David. Please leave a message…"

He almost gave into the bitter laughter bubbling up in his throat. What message would he leave?

I'm sorry?

I take it all back?

I miss you?

_I love you._

All of them were true, but none of them were right. So instead, when the tiny beep sounded in his ear, he faltered. He wasn't strong enough to say what he wanted to say. He wasn't strong enough without her.

"Ziva, it's me. I just wanted to talk to you. Call me back."

Twenty minutes and three more calls later, and Ziva's phone still hadn't been turned back on. Tony knew it wasn't like her to let her phone die; she was too paranoid to let herself be unreachable. He'd only ever been directed to her voicemail a handful of times. And mostly, that was because she didn't want to talk to him. Like now. Considering the circumstances, he ignored the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. She probably just didn't want to talk to him. Hell—he didn't blame her. He probably wouldn't want to talk to him, either.

Acting on impulse, he turned right rather than left at the end of his street. He would just drop by her place and say what he needed to say. Apologize. Beg. Plead. Grovel. Break the door down, if it came down to it. Anything, really, that wouldn't end in her despising him for the rest of their lives.

He sent up a silent prayer of relief when he noticed her car still parked in its space. She'd probably fell asleep with her phone off the charger, and it died while she was asleep. And of course she was still asleep; she'd gotten in late, and she had an extremely busy night. She was probably exhausted, Tony told himself as he practically jumped up the steps. She hadn't even had time to wake up and realize that he'd called.

When he came face to face with her front door he was in a much more optimistic mood. He knocked and wasn't really surprised to find that she didn't answer. Luckily for him, he could pick locks within a few seconds. He had the small tool kit in his hand and had started to pick the lock when a door across the hallway opened up.

"What're you doing?" a loud voice asked and Tony whirled around, simultaneously replacing the small leather kit in the pocket of his suit.

"Seeing a friend," he said.

"Ziva?" the man asked and Tony nodded. "Oh, she's not here. Left sometime last night."

"Left?" Tony frowned. "What time?"

"Oh, I'd say about one o'clock or so," the man said, looking up and to the right as though reading a cue card that Tony couldn't see. "She came home for a few minutes, half an hour, and left not long after that."

"How do you know all this?" Tony asked. "You spying on her?"

"Ziva's a hard woman to miss."

Tony said nothing. It was true.

"It was really hard not to notice her last night," he said. "All those suitcases bumping around on the stairs."

Tony paused, taken aback. "Suitcases?"

"Yeah," the man said. "A couple of them. Looked to me like she was planning on taking off for a few days. Can't say I blame her—it's a good time of the year for it."

Did Ziva take vacations? She must, he thought. Everyone does. The man leaned into Tony, and he smelled the harsh Listerine on the man's breath. He did his best not to grimace.

"Between you and me, I think she had a romantic kind of getaway planned."

"What makes you say that?" Tony asked.

"There was a guy helping her with her luggage last night," he clarified.

"There was a guy?" Tony asked, more than a little disturbed by the idea. "You're sure?"

"Oh, yeah," he replied. "Real handsome type; I've seen her come in with them before. This one followed her in, and then helped her take her luggage outside."

Tony scowled, upset by the fact that Ziva had left without telling anyone. It wasn't like her, and he realized with some reluctance that he'd thought that several times before in that morning alone. He didn't like one bit where the day was going. Best case scenario, Ziva took off with one of her lovers and Tony was left to agonize in his jealousy and regret. Worst case scenario… he didn't want to think about it.

"Thanks for your help," Tony heard himself tell the man, who walked back into his apartment with little more than a grunt.

He made quick work of the lock; for a moment it surprised Tony that Ziva would have such an easily passed security system. Then he realized that it was Ziva, ninja assassin extraordinaire, and that she would probably have welcomed an intruder. You didn't really need a complicated security system when you could legally register your body as a lethal weapon. Laughing at the thought a little, he let himself in the door.

The apartment was dark. He scanned it with his eyes before flicking the light switch, flooding the foyer and living room in warm light. Realizing it was probably a misplaced hope, he was disappointed to find that she wasn't passed out and snoring on the couch. Nothing was on the couch. He moved across the room to the table that held her reading lamp, opening the drawer. The gun he knew she hid there was untouched, as was the spare magazine she kept with it. If there was trouble of any kind, it would have been missing.

What did that mean? The fact that she hadn't so much as reached for a weapon spoke volumes, though he didn't exactly like the story it felt like telling. Romantic weekend… well, weekday, with Drew? There was no way Ziva could be so careless, even if it was to spite him. Tony hadn't been baiting her when he said that Drew was at the top of their list of suspects. As mad and hurt as she'd been the night before, Ziva wouldn't have ignored that simple fact. At least he liked to think she wouldn't.

He walked slowly throughout the rest of the apartment, calling Ziva's name tentatively in case the man had been mistaken and Ziva had come back to the apartment. A sleeping Ziva was a happy Ziva; wake her, and it was another story. He didn't want his neck twisted at odd angles for interrupting her beauty sleep. No one answered, however, but he kept calling. By the time he'd reached the end of her hallway, he would have been grateful if she'd answered the door absolutely furious just so long as she'd answered it.

He knocked loudly and received no answer.

"Ziva?" he called out. "Ziva, I don't know if you're asleep, but I'm coming in. Ready or not..."

He opened the door and found the bed empty and carefully made. His attention was immediately drawn to the closets, which were open and occupied only by empty wire hangers and a few randomly tossed pairs of shoes. The luggage she kept on the top shelf of her closet had disappeared, along with the majority of her clothes. Tony walked to the door of the closet, dismayed to find most everything within it missing.

Turning to survey the rest of the room, he noticed her phone lying on the bed. The battery had been taken out and thrown haphazardly aside, explaining why he had only been able to get her voicemail. He pulled his own phone out of his pocket and dialed the number to Ziva's extension at the office. He wasn't really surprised when her voicemail picked up there, either. His next try was the bar, hoping that maybe one of them had seen her.

It rang, unanswered, for over a minute before Tony hung up the phone. He wasn't really expecting anyone to pick up, seeing as how the bar didn't open for another several hours, but it was worth a shot. The previous nausea he'd experienced had turned into raging dread and his mouth had suddenly gone dry. He didn't like the looks of anything at all, and it terrified him to think that something could have happened to her. For lack of anything else he could do, he dialed the number of the man who always seemed to know everything.

"Yeah, Gibbs," the voice answered gruffly. Tony didn't think another voice had ever been so reassuring.

"Boss, have you heard from Ziva today?" he asked.

"Not since last night," he answered. "Why?"

"Something's up," he said with the utmost conviction. "I came by her apartment this morning because she didn't answer her phone, and the guy across the hall said they saw her leaving. With luggage."

"I didn't send her to a hotel," Gibbs observed.

"Her clothes and suitcase are gone," Tony said. "She took the battery out of her phone and left it on the bed." He paused. "The guy said he saw her leaving with a man."

"Who?"

"No idea. He didn't say," he said. "Just said he walked in right behind her and left with her. This isn't like her, boss. She wouldn't just take off without telling anyone."

"You think, DiNozzo?"

"Right."

"Are you there now?"

"Yeah," he said. "What do you want me to do, boss?"

"Stay there in case she comes back," he said and Tony heard papers rustling in the background. "We're on our way."


	9. Without a Trace

**Author's Note:**

**This is kind of another filler chapter… just a way from me to get from Point A to Point B. In any case, enjoy. **

**Chapter Nine**

"**Without a Trace"**

Ziva woke with a start and a pain along her jaw and neck that was almost debilitating. She stretched her jaw out and suppressed the overwhelming desire to cry out, instead looking out the window to view the surroundings. She was in a car. Why? It was still dark outside. She looked over to the driver's seat and saw Kenny singing along with the radio, taking occasional drinks from a coffee cup he must have picked up along the way. The events of the few hours before came into sharp focus then, and she gritted her teeth.

"Good morning," Kenny said cheerfully beside her. "That was quite a nap you took for someone who wasn't tired."

"I had some help," she said, bringing her hand up to tenderly touch her jaw. She could just imagine the nasty bruise that would be marring her face within the next few hours.

"I don't usually hit girls," he said casually while Ziva seethed. She hated that he'd put his hands on her. "But I didn't want you to know how we were getting to where we're going, so I didn't have much choice."

"You could have put me in the trunk," she said.

"So you could disable the taillight and get me pulled over?" he laughed. "Please. Give me some credit."

"Where are we?" she asked, staring out the window and into the trees that lined the country road they were driving down.

"Almost there," he informed. "A few more minutes and we'll get to stretch our legs a bit."

A few more minutes ended up being the better part of a half-hour and Ziva found herself weaving in an out of consciousness. She really was exhausted and Kenny's cheap shot to her jaw wasn't helping. She kept telling herself that she needed to stay alert in case, for some reason, she managed to find an out. Then she'd drift out again for a few seconds only to jerk awake, and have the same thought. In the end, it was Tony that kept her eyes open. If there was even a chance that she'd get out of there and see his face again, she'd stay awake for a year.

She was deep in her thoughts when Kenny pulled the car in front of a cabin surrounded by thick evergreen trees. The dwelling was small and old, Ziva could tell, and didn't look like it had gotten much attention over the years. A few of the windows were lit, and Ziva guessed this was where Kenny and his partner had set up their headquarters.

"Home sweet home," Kenny said, killing the engine of the car. "For the time being, anyway."

He climbed out of the car and Ziva followed his lead, expecting to turn and find the barrel of his gun pointed once again at her face. He kept it tucked away, however, and instead walked to the trunk to unload the luggage. She leaned against the car and observed her surroundings, trying to form a logical guess where she could be. The woods somewhere, she thought. Her musings were interrupted when the front door of the cabin slammed shut and her eyes traveled up the steps to find Leslie, who looked at her with widened eyes.

"Oh, my God," she said, staring at Ziva. Her eyes momentarily flitted to Ziva's jaw, which had swollen and was starting to turn various shades of purple.

"Hello, Leslie," Ziva said, fixing her with a cold and deadly glare. "Are you surprised to see me?"

"What the hell is she doing here?" Leslie asked, ignoring Ziva's question completely. She watched Kenny pull suitcases from the trunk. "Jesus Christ! You brought all her stuff? Are you out of your mind?"

"Calm down, Les," Kenny said, slamming the trunk door. "It was just for appearance's sake. We'll bury them in random places around the woods. Or burn it. Whichever works for you."

"Why is she even here?" Leslie said, storming down the steps. "You said you were going to make her disappear. That didn't mean bring her fucking _here._"

"Will you calm down?" Kenny ordered. "I told you, it won't matter. And if they think she was kidnapped, they'll scour the whole goddamn country looking for her. That kind of search goes on for months, if not years." He made a point of this. "If they think she left on her own—hence the suitcases—they'll look for a little while and give up. They'll think she jumped ship and call her a coward, and then move on. I did think this out."

"Except for the fact that she'd fucking _breathing_," Leslie seethed. "The longer she's alive, the more chances there are that we'll get caught."

"She's offered to cooperate," Kenny said simply. Before Leslie could snap back he added, "We need to figure out if anyone else knows anything. As soon as we get the information we want, I'll take care of it."

"I am standing right here, you know," Ziva reminded, using anger to mask the fear. "Why should I tell you anything? You will kill me anyway."

Kenny turned. "Because if I find out you lied or left anything relevant out of the picture, I'll make sure Tony gets cut up into little pieces while he's still breathing." Ziva didn't miss the rampant temper in his eyes; she was starting to doubt her previous assessment that he'd been in his right mind. "I don't handle lying very well, even lying by omission. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly," she said, hoping he didn't hear the tremor in her voice.

"Good. I knew you were sharp," he said and motioned toward the cabin. "Ladies first. After you, Ziva."

"Who's Ziva?" Leslie asked, falling into step behind her.

"I am," Ziva said. "Anna was my cover."

"I knew it," Leslie said as they walked into the house. "I knew she was a cop."

"Federal agent," Ziva corrected, summing up the layout of the cabin within seconds of stepping inside.

"FBI?" Leslie almost chirped, thinking immediately what could happen to them if they got caught kidnapping and/or killing a federal agent. Ziva could hear the strain in her voice and it gave her some satisfaction to know that Leslie was scared.

"NCIS."

"Whatever," Leslie said, just barely finding her voice once again. Finding anger more comforting than fear, she lashed out. Leslie shoved Ziva forward a bit and spat, "Just get moving already."

Not reacting well to the sudden contact, Ziva whirled and took the front of Leslie's shirt into her fist. She barely had time to take in a breath before Ziva's face was inches from hers. Kenny stood back, intrigued and amused by the sudden show. Ziva was determined not to waste the opportunity.

"Make no mistake," Ziva whispered threateningly, "I have no problems with killing you where you stand."

"You wouldn't," Leslie gasped.

"Oh, I would," Ziva said with a laugh that bordered on maniacal. "Touch me again, and I will slit your throat."

Leslie cleared her throat. "I'm not afraid of you."

Ziva laughed. "Oh, you should be. Do you know what I did before I came to America?" She continued when Leslie shook her head. "I was Mossad. I specialized in assassinations."

"Okay, girls, that's enough," Kenny said, making a half-hearted effort to step between them. Ziva only held Leslie tighter; it gave her immense satisfaction to feel Leslie's heart pounding frantically beneath her fist.

"Get her off me," Leslie said weakly, afraid to move. Kenny didn't move a muscle. "Get her off me!" Leslie's eyes stayed on Ziva's, but the movement to her periphery didn't exactly take her by surprise. Ziva deflected the blow by twisting her wrist in a circle and forcing to her fall, writhing, to the ground.

Ziva leaned in close, pressing her knee into the small of the woman's back. "I told you not to touch me."

"That's enough!" Kenny yelled, this time moving to pull Ziva off the shaking woman on the ground. Ziva complied by standing up, but not before she'd slipped the cell phone that had been in Leslie's pocket into her own without batting an eye. She was the queen of misdirection; Kenny didn't notice a thing.

"I warned her," Ziva said simply, noting the amused smile on his face. She thought it was something akin to bloodlust.

"You did," he said but roughly grabbed her arm. "Don't pull a stunt like that again, you hear me?"

Ziva nodded.

Leslie was busy pulling herself off the ground, shrieking in fury. Ziva looked at her and laughed a little under her breath, enjoying the heat working its way through her body; she'd forgotten how good unspeakable fury felt when it was all you had in the world to hold on to. Before their intense glares could erupt into something more lasting, or more violent, Kenny pushed her forward. He opened a door and led her down a rickety set of stairs. Her eyes rested on a flickering light bulb and a ratty mattress in the corner.

"Is this where I am to stay?"

"Oh, it's not so bad," he said. "You won't be here that long, anyway." He didn't miss the quick flicker in his captive's eyes. "Get some rest. It's been a long night for everyone. I'll come in and check on you every so often."

"Am I supposed to tell you goodnight?" she asked bitterly.

"Not if you don't want to, sweetheart," he said from the top of the stairs and slammed the door, plunging her into darkness.

She heard locks clamping into place, and she knew before she looked that the basement was windowless. If she was to escape, she'd have to break her way out and work her way through God knows how much wilderness before reaching civilization of any kind. She could do it, she knew. It wouldn't be the worst situation she'd worked her way out of. But that would mean killing both her captors—a thought that didn't exactly bother her—and risking the life of her partner, assuming that the check-in rule between whoever he was and Kenny stood. It was a risk she wasn't ready to take, so she decided to let herself stay put for the time being.

If the time came that she worked out a more effective plan, she would act on it then. Until that time, she would play along.

Resigned to the situation, she sat down on the mattress and instantly wondered if sleeping on the stairs would have been more comfortable than the springs pressing into her body at odd angles. She took out the phone and opened it, finding exactly what she was afraid of finding. No signal. But the battery was half charged, and so she decided to hang on to it for a little while. If she was lucky, they would leave her alone sometime long enough for her to find a decent signal and get a call through. Until then, she was on her own.

--

Gibbs stood in his missing agent's living room, wondering what piece of the puzzle he had yet to find. Sometimes, when he looked over cases, it was completely obvious. His gut told him within moments who the perpetrator was, and all that was left was to find evidence to support his gut feeling. This time, however, nothing was coming so easily.

Ziva's apartment was absolutely spotless. Not a thing was out of place or gave any indication that Ziva had left for any reasons other than her own. The only things missing were suitcases and her clothes; her cell phone had been left on the bed and her car keys were sitting on the coffee table where, he guessed, she walked in and left them when she left with whatever man had accompanied her the night before. Her car sat untouched in the parking lot. Nothing made sense, Gibbs thought as he watched Tony and McGee scour the apartment.

He sent McGee around with a camera first, pretending that it didn't bother him to treat a friend's apartment like a crime scene. In all honestly, he wasn't even sure if it was one. What his head could process logically told him an answer he didn't want to hear, while his gut told him that something bigger was going on. If there was one thing he knew without a shadow of a doubt, it was people. He knew Ziva wasn't a deserter. This thought in mind, he let McGee and DiNozzo do their jobs and he stood back to think.

Tony was shell-shocked, Gibbs noticed. He went through the motions and participated in the procedure, though it didn't seem to occur to him that it was his partner's personal belongings—her life—that he was going through. He had to wonder if that was better for him. Ordinarily Gibbs could read the younger agent's mind like a book, but today Tony's poker face was impenetrable. He didn't know what that meant, exactly, but he was sure to figure it out before too long.

"I don't get it, boss," McGee said, coming to stand next to Gibbs. "Why would Ziva just take off like this?"

"She wouldn't, McGee," Gibbs answered. "DiNozzo! What do you have?"

"Nothing yet, boss," Tony said stoically. He shuffled his feet but looked Gibbs in the eye. "I can't find anything."

"Well, keep looking," Gibbs ordered and watched as Tony walked to a table across the room. As Tony opened the drawer at the top of it he questioned, "What are you doing, DiNozzo?"

Tony held up the small pistol. "She always keeps it here. It wasn't touched when I came in this morning. The spare magazine was where it always is."

Gibbs frowned. "What does that tell you?"

"That there wasn't trouble," he answered, deeply troubled by the words. "If there was, there would be proof of it somewhere and Ziva would have reached for this gun first."

Gibbs heard the hesitation in Tony's voice. "But?"

"But it doesn't make sense," Tony said and Gibbs had the feeling that the younger agent was no longer talking to him. He'd retreated to his head space. "She wouldn't just take off like this. She wouldn't be unreachable." He laughed. "I keep expecting her to walk through the door and beat the hell out of us for intruding into her personal life."

"What do you know about her personal life, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked pointedly. "Anything interesting we should know about?"

Tony shook his head. "Nothing she told me about."

"Me either," McGee supplied.

"Like she would tell you, Probie," Tony said, sparing a patronizing glance at his friend that they both knew he didn't mean.

"She does occasionally," McGee defended, taking the comment in stride. "When she wants advice that doesn't include typical chauvinism or sarcasm."

"What does that mean?" Gibbs interjected, already tired of hearing them bicker.

"Two alternatives," McGee started, "One of which we're not going to like. One: That she's willingly taken off somewhere and doesn't want us to find her."

"Or, two," Tony continued. "That someone has her, which isn't any more comforting than option one."

"She was undercover. Maybe she stumbled onto something that would have told us who the killer was," McGee supplied. "I don't think it's a coincidence that she disappears just after a fifth victim shows up."

"She didn't mention anything like that to me," Tony said. "And we've been busy looking at Drew Connor." His eyes lit up. "Maybe that's it, boss. Maybe he thought that if Ziva disappeared, we would be too busy looking for her to keep working on the case."

"If it was a kidnapping, why doesn't it look like one?" McGee asked. "If the intention was to throw us off the case by sending us after Ziva, wouldn't the guy have made it more obvious that that was what it was?"

Tony stared. "What?"

"Well, look around," McGee continued. "If this wasn't Ziva's apartment we were standing in, we would have concluded that the person had left on their own. There's no sign of a struggle, and the only things missing are things that Ziva would have taken if she'd decided to take off somewhere."

"Good way to hide a kidnapping," Tony allowed.

"Which means what?" Gibbs added, knowing that neither agent really needed the question. They were both thinking it already, as was Gibbs.

"That our guy is smart," McGee said. "A good planner."

"And that Ziva is just an excuse to get us of his trail," Tony said. "He won't need her for long; the longer he has her, the bigger a liability she is."

Gibbs nodded. It was all true.

"Pack it up," he ordered and turned to walk out of the apartment. He didn't think there was a damn thing here that would do any good.

"Where are we going, boss?" Tony asked, falling into step behind Gibbs as McGee locked the door behind him.

"To talk to Vance," he said and they left the apartment building.


	10. Direction, or Lack Thereof

**Author's Note:**

**I realize that Vance isn't really such an antagonist, but I needed him to make a few points. We'll just pretend that for the sake of this story, he's a little meaner than he usually is. I don't really feel bad about it… he's not exactly my favorite character, anyway.**

**Chapter Ten**

"**Direction, or Lack Thereof"**

Tony stood in Vance's office, listening with a mixture of disbelief and anger. He said nothing while Gibbs pleaded their case and McGee backed him up, unsure if the words boiling on the tip of his tongue would be the ones to get him fired. He was almost certain they were, and so they remained unsaid. For once, it seemed, the logical side of his brain had won out.

"We don't investigate people who leave because they want to, Agent Gibbs," Vance said, handing Gibbs back the pictures that had been taken of Ziva's empty apartment. "Officer David is not missing. She left."

"Do you really believe that?" Gibbs asked, disgusted that the director couldn't see what was plain as day in front of his face. He didn't know Ziva the way they all did. For the millionth time in just a few months, he missed Jenny.

"Yes, I do," Vance said. "Look at everything you just showed me. Not a single bit of it looks like she was forced to leave under any conditions other than her own. You said it yourself; her weapon was untouched."

"That doesn't mean a damn thing and you know it."

"Yes, it does," Vance said, leaning forward in his chair. "You know Ziva's training as well as I do. She is more than capable of defending herself, Agent Gibbs. And yet her home shows no signs of a struggle, and her weapon wasn't touched. If it was a dangerous situation, there would be some proof of it and the fact is that there isn't." He stared at all the agents in turn. "Ziva left on her own, gentlemen. I'm sorry, but it's the truth."

Gibbs and McGee walked out without another word, slamming the door behind them, but Tony remained behind. He didn't know what he would say, exactly, but there had to be something that could convince Vance that they weren't on a wild goose chase. Ziva's life depended on it; that simple fact spurred him on.

"Can I help you with something, Agent DiNozzo?" Vance asked, pushing the paperwork he'd been studying aside.

"Ziva wouldn't just leave," Tony heard himself say. He felt urgency in his words that he couldn't quite describe. Vance _needed _to understand. "I know you don't know her like we do, but she just wouldn't. It's not like her."

"How do you know what's her and what isn't?"

The question took Tony aback. "She's my partner. I know her."

"Do you, Agent DiNozzo?" he asked. "You know Ziva's background. How can you ever really know someone like that?"

"What does that mean?"

"She's an assassin," Vance said simply. "She can be who she wants to be when she wants to be. It's not possible to know someone like that as well as you think you do."

Tony just stared. "You're joking, right?" Vance said nothing, and Tony scoffed for lack of any other reaction that sprung to mind. "You think Ziva's some kind of sleeper agent?"

"Not exactly," Vance said, intrigued by the agent's fervor. "People like Ziva are complicated to understand."

"What does that mean?"

"It means she does what she wants when she wants. She'll do the right thing if it suits her, but not before. She's a born and bred killer, Agent DiNozzo," he said. "You can't have expected for her to stick around forever."

"She's my partner," Tony said simply, fixing Vance with a stare that had almost rivaled one of Gibbs'. "That's all I need to know. She wouldn't do what you're accusing her of."

"I'm not accusing her of anything," Vance said. "I'm just saying that she's gotten tired of this life. She saw fit to move on. And Ziva knows how to disappear, so don't expect to find her any time soon."

"Nothing's that simple."

"This is," Vance said, standing. "Tell me, if you and Ziva are so close, did she ever tell you who were brother was?"

Tony paused. He couldn't remember ever having a conversation about her brother. One about her younger sister, Tali, when they first met but none other than that. He used to think that she only mentioned her little sister because she was never expecting to see him again.

"No."

"She wouldn't have, would she?" Vance said. "What about her time in Israel before you all came back together as a big, happy family? What did she say about Morocco?"

Tony said nothing.

"I see," Vance said. "Of course she tells you everything. This subject is now closed, DiNozzo. I'm sure you have more important things requiring your attention."

Shocked at what had just transpired, Tony left the office without another word but he refused to let Vance's mind games throw him off the fact that his partner was missing and they had no leads. He walked down the stairs to find Gibbs on the phone, talking to people Tony was sure had been in contact with Ziva. McGee was nowhere to be found; he was probably downstairs helping Abby.

As much as he hated to admit it, Vance's words stuck with him. How well did he know Ziva? So maybe he didn't know all the names of her brothers and sisters. She didn't really discuss them at length, and that was her choice. She didn't talk about previous assignments either, but he didn't blame her for that. Sometimes it's easier not to talk about that kind of thing.

_She can be who she wants to be when she wants to be._

It was true, Tony knew. She was too good at her job not to be a good actress, but that didn't mean she'd been playing them for three years. What the hell was Vance thinking? Mole? If that was the case, they should have been working on something a lot bigger than a murder case. If you were ever going to run off with information, wouldn't it be espionage? She wouldn't have gotten anything from their current case.

Tony hated himself for thinking that way; for speculating what Ziva may have gotten if she'd run off. The idea was incredibly unlikely—how would Ziva had known that she would even be sent back to NCIS after four months in Israel? She wouldn't. There was no way she could have planned on being brought back. This had all but solidified her innocence in his mind, but one thought kept nagging at him. The uncertainty was driving him crazy.

"Boss, who's Ziva's brother?" he asked suddenly from across the bullpen, hoping Gibbs would have an answer. It anyone would, it would be him.

Gibbs put down the phone and stared long and hard at him before getting up from his desk to stand in front of Tony's. Tony couldn't tell what was going through the man's head, so he remained silent.

"Where did that come from, DiNozzo?"

"Vance. He—"

"My office. Now," Gibbs grumbled and Tony had no choice but to follow. He walked quickly behind Gibbs and had barely jumped into the elevator before the doors closed. They rode in strained silence for a few seconds before Gibbs stopped the elevator and turned around to face the younger agent. His question was simple.

"What did Vance tell you?"

"That Ziva might not be who we all think she is," Tony explained. "He asked if she'd told me who her brother was."

"Has she?"

"No," Tony answered. "It never came up."

"Do you think it would change how you felt about her?" Gibbs asked and watched Tony squirm under the weight of the question. "As a partner?"

Determined not to sound relieved at this amendment, he answered, "No."

"Ziva's brother's name was Ari," Gibbs said slowly and watched as the meaning sunk in. He stood by as Tony's brain flew through shock and disbelief before hovering over denial and tail-spinning into anger and hurt.

"She should have told us that herself," Tony said heatedly. He didn't know if the anger burning in his chest was real, or if it was just his way of masking the pain of Ziva's disappearance. "How could she not tell us something like that? That her brother was the terrorist who'd killed Kate and took shots at Jenny and Abby?" He paused. "How could she be here even after you killed him?"

"I didn't kill Ari," Gibbs said pointedly. "Ziva did."

Tony blinked. "Why couldn't she have told me, boss?"

"Because you wouldn't have given her the benefit of a chance," Gibbs said simply. "If you had known, would you have trusted her?"

Tony considered the question, and knew Gibbs had a point. "No."

"Do you trust her now?"

He answered without a second thought. "Of course, boss."

"Then that other shit Vance is throwing your way doesn't matter," he said. "Ziva is not her brother. Don't let that change anything."

"Point taken," Tony said and Gibbs flipped the elevator back into motion.

"When we find Ziva, don't tell her what I just told you," Gibbs said. "It's her story to tell, and she'll tell you when she feels like she can. Same goes for McGee; he'll know when she's ready."

Although thinking of finding Ziva made him a little more optimistic, Tony didn't know where to go from there. He felt aimless.

"What are we going to do, boss?"

"Keep looking, DiNozzo," Gibbs answered. "Keep looking until we find her."

--

Their looking didn't get them much of anywhere. Abby sighed through the tears building and forced them away, determined not to fall to pieces when Ziva needed her the most. She took the prints from her friend's cell phone carefully, knowing that precision was the key to giving the team what they needed. Abby knew they didn't have much in the lead department, and she knew without asking that they were depending on her to put them on the trail of whoever had Ziva. She was running the prints through AFIS when McGee came storming into the lab.

"What a bastard," McGee said loudly, loosening his tie as he walked.

"Who would that be, Timmy?" Abby asked, studying the computer screen in front of her.

"Vance," he said and faced Abby when he turned to face her. He could tell that she'd been trying not to cry. He could sympathize; frustration could do that to a person.

"What did he do?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"He thinks Ziva left on her own," McGee said, leaning against the giant cooler Abby kept lined up against the wall. "He doesn't think anything happened and she just took off for no reason."

"What?" she asked, outraged that the man in charge of looking out for the agents was the one playing the devil's advocate. "How could he be so blind? Ziva wouldn't just leave like that, without telling anyone! She wouldn't do that."

"We know that, Abby," McGee said. "But Vance doesn't. Or he doesn't want to."

Abby glared, but McGee knew it wasn't at him. She was thinking about Vance.

"What a bastard," she said and turned back to the flashing prints on her computer screen. "Why doesn't he think that Ziva was kidnapped? She undercover when she went missing. Isn't that evidence enough?"

"You'd think so," McGee said. "I don't know why he's playing dumb. He couldn't stand to gain anything from it. I don't get it."

"Me either, McGee," she said, keeping her eye on the screen. "Me, either."

They sat in silence for just a moment before a loud buzzer from the front of the room announced that every useable print taken from Ziva's cell phone had been her own. Abby and McGee looked on, silently cursing. They'd both been hoping that one of the dozens of prints had been from someone who had no business in Ziva's apartment late at night. There was one print left to run, but Abby already knew that it would get thousands of prints that could possibly match. It only had three points of reference, and wouldn't do any good in pointing the team in the right direction. She would run it later, just to be sure.

"There goes that idea," McGee said.

"What have you got, Abs?" Gibbs said, marching into the lab. Ordinarily Abby would have found his predictable presence comforting. Today she found it unnerving, because the feeling of failure had overcome her usually optimistic nature.

"All the prints I got off Ziva's phone belonged to Ziva," she said sadly. "I'm sorry, Gibbs. I really am."

"It's not your fault, Abs," Gibbs said honestly. "Just keep working, okay?"

Abby gave a salute. "Yes, Gibbs."

"McGee," Gibbs said, adopting a harsher tone to speak to his younger agent. He wasn't mad; he just found that McGee reacted much better to authority. "I want you to pull up all Ziva's phone records. Any unknown numbers, run a trace."

"Yes, boss," McGee said and left the lab in search of his computer. Gibbs knew he would have the desired information within a few minutes, undoubtedly waiting on him. Gibbs watched him leave before turning to Abby. "It'll be okay, Abs. We'll find her."

"I believe you," Abby said and Gibbs didn't miss the strain in her voice. "But I'm not giving you guys anything to go on. I'm kind of useless right now."

"It's not you."

"I know, I know," she said.

"Hey, no," he said. "Look at me."

Abby complied.

"This guy is smart, Abs," he said honestly, regardless of how much that simple fact bothered him. "Really smart. But you're smarter. You'll find something. Until then, chin up."

Abby gave him a watery smile. "Yes, Gibbs."

Gibbs placed a small kiss on top of her head, reaching a bit in competition with the platform combat boots Abby wore on an almost-daily basis. He knew the simple gesture would comfort her, and would give him a feeling that he was doing something right. At the moment, he was feeling just about as useless as Abby had. He also knew that Tony, McGee, and Abby were all looking to him for answers. Heading out of the lab, he swore to himself that he would find them if it killed him.

He got in the elevator and headed down to autopsy, where he could find someone to talk to without worrying about being the fearless leader.

--

Autopsy was blessedly deserted for one of the first times in a long while, and Gibbs found himself alone with Ducky. His long time friend was sitting at a dimly lit desk, poring over paperwork. Palmer must have been sent out on some errand or other, and Gibbs was grateful for the temporary privacy.

"Jethro," Ducky said, turning in his chair. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"You've heard about Ziva, I take," Gibbs asked, pulling up a chair to sit beside his friend.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Ducky said. "Abigail told me first thing this morning. Are there any leads?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Not so far, Duck. I was kind of hoping you could help me out with that."

"I see," the medical examiner said, turning back to the papers on his desk. "I'm not sure what I can tell you at the moment; with any kind of accuracy, anyway. I've been taking a look at the cases all morning, seeing as my tables are empty for the time being."

"What _can_ you tell me, Duck?" he asked. He needed something, _anything_, to go on. Ziva couldn't have disappeared off the face of the earth without leaving a single thing behind.

"Well, I can tell you this," Ducky stared. "The pathologies of the two crimes don't really connect."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, poisoning is largely considered a passive method of murder," Ducky said. "Kidnapping, on the other hand, is very proactive. Aggressive, even. Someone who poisons their victims wouldn't have the psychological pathology necessary to accomplish a kidnapping. Especially one as well thought out as our Ziva's."

"What are you saying, Duck?" Gibbs asked. "Are we looking at two people?"

"I think so," Ducky said. "Either that, or someone with a very severe form of split-personality disorder. Though, personally, I think the idea of two perpetrators is far more likely."

Ducky studied the lines in Gibbs' face and knew that Ziva's disappearance weighed heavily on the man. The slight dip in his shoulders signified just how much the other agents were looking to him to find the answers, and Ducky knew how much that affected Gibbs. He wished he could say something to take the pressure off, but he knew just as well that whatever words he managed to string together wouldn't make Gibbs feel any less responsible for the well-being of his team.

"I'm afraid I haven't helped you much, Jethro," Ducky said, folding his hands in his lap. "I can't send you off after a suspect."

"I wasn't expecting to get that lucky," Gibbs said and they shared a laugh. "Vance is telling everyone that Ziva deserted."

"Good Lord," Ducky said. "Why would he possibly think that?"

"I don't think he does, Duck," Gibbs said. "But he won't treat it like a missing person's case."

"I'm sure we have political agenda to blame for that," Ducky said, obviously disturbed by the idea.

"It wouldn't be the first time Ziva got caught up in something like that," Gibbs said. "But we weren't working on anything politics-related."

Ducky laughed. "Perhaps he did not want to inform Deputy Director David that he'd lost his daughter."

"Very possible," Gibbs said. "Deputy Director David values Ziva more as a weapon than as a daughter. He wouldn't be too happy to realize that Vance had gotten her kidnapped."

"Telling him that Ziva left on her own accord would keep him out of the line of fire," Ducky agreed. "Politics are brutal that way. So often, they hinder rather than help."

"But he has to know that we're going to keep looking," Gibbs said. "Whether or not he gives us his damn permission."

"Maybe that is what he's hoping for," Ducky said. "If—I'm sorry, _when_—you find Ziva, he can chalk it up to being wrong rather than withholding information from the head of another organization. Her father, to be more exact."

"That's good thinking, Duck," Gibbs said.

"I'm sorry I can't be of more help," Ducky said. "But perhaps something I've said can make more sense coupled with physical evidence."

"You helped plenty," Gibbs said and stood to walk out of autopsy. "I'll keep you in the loop."

"Please do," Ducky said and watched Gibbs march out.

--

Tony sat at his desk, staring across the walkway at Ziva's empty one. It was like the whole building was empty without her, he thought. It was a glaring reminder of what he could be doing to find her rather than sit around moping. Determined not to get caught up in feeling sorry for himself, he picked up the crime scene photos that McGee had taken that morning. He started at the top of the stack, working his way down.

He studied the pictures carefully, committing each one to memory. There was something there he was missing, he was sure of it, but he didn't know where to look. He'd memorized the layout of Ziva's bedroom one picture at a time before one photograph caught his attention. It was of Ziva's Star of David, broken. The little links had been placed beside it; Tony assumed it was so it could be fixed later. He had almost moved on to the next picture before the object the necklace rested on.

Surrounded by a thin gold chain, the bold red letters beneath it spelled out "Hostage". It was the movie Tony had let her borrow a couple of nights before, when she'd liked Die Hard so much. He put the single photo aside and looked at the next one, which was a shot of the same thing from farther away. The DVD case had been turned every so slightly off the table, but Tony had no idea what that could mean. He did know that this was Ziva's way of telling them what happened to her. It was the smallest of clues, but he knew it was meant for him.

Grabbing his keys and jacket, he ran toward the elevator.


	11. Missing You

**Chapter Eleven**

"**Missing You"**

Tony let himself into Ziva's apartment after giving the man across the hall orders to call if he happened to see Ziva or the man she left with again. The man had grunted his assent and retreated back into his cave of a home, leaving Tony to wander through Ziva's deserted apartment in peace. It was hard not to get caught up in the millions of unanswered questions in his head, so he focused on the tasks at hand. His first task was to find the DVD and Star of David, assuming they meant what he prayed they did. He found them on a table in the entryway, exactly how he'd seen them in the picture.

He studied the items for just a minute, wondering what circumstances might have caused Ziva to leave them there. Vance was right about one thing; Ziva knew how to defend herself. Even if Ziva had a gun trained on her, it wouldn't have been an issue. She would have been able to handle any unwanted company with her bare hands, and that was supposing she didn't have access to a weapon. Last night, she would have. A gun was a few feet away, waiting for her to reach for it.

Doubt nagged. Why didn't she reach for it?

Nothing made sense anymore, Tony thought as he stared down at the delicate piece of jewelry. He couldn't find a reason why Ziva wasn't there, but he knew there had to be one. She wouldn't have just played along, but she wouldn't have been reckless either. There was something he was missing, he could feel it, but he didn't know where to look. He guessed he could start with what he'd already found: his DVD.

He opened the evidence bag he'd been keeping in his pocket and angled it to allow the case to fall in. Using a pen, he pushed the DVD until it slid off the edge of the table and into the evidence bag, taking Ziva's Star of David with it. Before he sealed it, he reached into the bag to pull out the necklace. He placed it and the broken links in his pocket so he could fix them later, hating the idea that such a big part of Ziva would be locked in some dark box in evidence somewhere. In any case, he was sure she would want it when she got back and he fully intended to be the one to give it to her.

He walked out the door and locked it behind him with the weight of Ziva's necklace in his pocket and the evidence bag in his hand. Not quite sure what the movie in and of itself would tell him, he was at least convinced that Ziva's subtle clue would be able to convince Vance that she hadn't jumped ship. Proof was what Vance wanted, and proof was what Vance was going to get. No one was going to keep him from looking for Ziva; least of all the director of NCIS.

Tony strode back into the office with purpose in every step, sure that this piece of evidence would convince the director of what the team had been trying to tell him. It was critical that Vance know what they were dealing with, and Tony understood why. He was convincing Vance just as much as he was convincing himself; he didn't want to think that Ziva had walked away because of him. It hadn't eluded him that she disappeared after they fought, but the guilt that accompanied the thought was debilitating in every way.

This thought weighing heavily on his mind, he threw his keys on his desk and walked on, heading for the stairs. Gibbs was coming down them at the same time, he guessed from the same office he was walking toward, and both men stopped for a moment.

"What's that?" Gibbs asked, nodding at the evidence bag in Tony's hand.

"Ziva left us something, boss," he said, pulling the photo he'd been studying earlier out of the bag and handing it to Gibbs. "I let her borrow that movie the other day. She must have broken the necklace somehow and knew we would find it. Look how she arranged it."

"And?"

"And I think this was her way of telling us what happened."

"It's a long shot, DiNozzo," he said. "But it's good work."

"Thanks, boss," he said and replaced the picture.

"Where are you going?"

"To see Vance," Tony answered. "I think this will prove that someone has Ziva. Maybe then we'll get some backup. Like a city-wide grid search or something."

Ignoring the implausibility of a city-wide search in the nation's capital, Gibbs pressed his mouth into a thin line.

"The director isn't going to see what he does want to," Gibbs said soberly. It was imperative that Tony understand that simple fact. "He's got an agenda of his own, and that doesn't include admitting that Ziva's been kidnapped."

"What?" Tony asked, incredulous. "Why?

"Politics are like that," Gibbs said plainly.

"So, what?" Tony asked. "He's just going to let Ziva die?"

"Ziva's not going to die," Gibbs said pointedly. "We're going to find her."

Tony couldn't help the heavy weight on his chest. "I know, boss."

"Take that down to Abby," Gibbs said, meaning the evidence bag. "See if she can find any prints that aren't yours or Ziva's."

Tony nodded his assent and followed Gibbs back down the stairs, feeling as though the weight of the world was placed squarely between his shoulders. Living without her was too hard. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he promised himself that it wouldn't happen again.

--

McGee pulled into the parking lot of Low Tide, not entirely sure what he expected to gain from his visit. His only thought was that if nothing else, he could say that he'd checked everywhere. When he walked in the door, a very big part of him was waiting to see Ziva standing at the bar with a bottle of Jose Cuervo in her hand. The image in his head was alluring, comforting even, but not enough to change the fact that Ziva wasn't the woman standing behind the bar. He cleared the discouraging thought from his mind and walked forward.

He flashed his badge to the very annoyed woman behind the bar, who barely spared him little more than a cursory glance. She shoved the blonde hair falling in her face aside with a huff and went on with her work.

"Ask your questions while you have the chance," she snapped. "I'm a bit shorthanded today."

"I'm surprised you're open," McGee said honestly. "With what happened last night, I expected to find the place empty."

"Death doesn't stop people from drinking," she answered. "Just makes them drink more."

"Fair point," he returned. "What's your name?"

"Leslie Price," she said.

"Where's your other bartender, Leslie?" McGee asked. "The dark-haired one who was here the other night."

"Didn't show up," she replied, obviously agitated. "Didn't call, didn't show. She's so fired if she ever shows her face in here again."

"That's a bit harsh," he commented.

Leslie shrugged. "I don't have time for people who don't take their jobs seriously."

"Well, if you hear from her, give me a call," he said, handing her a card with his extension at NCIS headquarters printed neatly at the bottom.

Leslie took the card and stared at it. "What do you want her for?"

He lied. "Just some follow-up questions."

She eyed him. "Do you think she's the one who's been killing those guys?"

McGee cleared his throat. "I'm not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation," he said and watched her eyes widen. Hey, he thought. If it would get Ziva found, he didn't care how he did it. He wanted his friend back safe and the sooner the better.

"Well, give me a call if she decides to show up," he said again, turning away from her. Leslie nodded her agreement and McGee walked out of the bar, wondering once again what he managed to accomplish.

--

"Go home, DiNozzo."

A gruff voice resonated in his ears and Tony picked his head up from the top of his desk, brushing away a piece of paper that had decided to stick itself to his forehead. He grimaced. How long had he been out?

"I'm okay, boss," Tony groaned and looked at his watch. It was after midnight and they were still out of leads. "I'm just waiting on Abby's lab report. Then I'll get out of here."

"It's been in your inbox for an hour, Tony," Abby said, materializing next to Gibbs. "You really should go home. We'll get a fresh start tomorrow."

"What did the report say?" he asked, ignoring her statement and turning to his computer. He scanned the e-mail quickly. "The cyanide was in the glass?"

Abby nodded. "He must have been relatively drunk already or he would have known something else was in it. The drink should have tasted off."

"Off like how?" Tony asked, suppressing a yawn. He needed to wake the hell up.

"Bitter almonds," she replied. "Cyanide has a distinct taste. And smell, for that matter."

"Was it the same chemical strain of cyanide from the other four?" Tony asked.

"Major Mass Spec is still debating that," she said. "But I'm willing to bet it will be. All other things considered."

"So, what, boss?" Tony asked, leaning back in his chair to fold his arms behind his head. "We get a warrant to check out the bar?"

"What do you think, DiNozzo?" he asked.

"I think Ziva would have noticed if the other girl was spiking drinks," Tony commented.

"Maybe she did notice," Gibbs said.

"It would explain why we're having to look for her," Abby contributed.

"Wouldn't she have mentioned something like that to one of us, boss?"

"Not if she was busy dealing with you," he replied and turned away. The comment stung a little, but Gibbs was right. Tony kept his mouth closed to prevent further incriminating himself and Gibbs called back, "Go home. That's an order."

"Yes, boss," he said quietly.

Debating any further would earn him a head slap and probably a few angry words, and Tony knew when to choose his battles. This particular battle wasn't one he was willing to fight with Gibbs. The man would probably be sending the rest of them home soon, anyway. They were all working their hardest to find Ziva, and Tony knew that. She was just as important to everyone else on the team, and they were all just as determined to find her.

He left the bullpen only after forcing McGee to call if anything new turned up. Gibbs had retreated to MTAC for some reason or another and Abby had gone back to her lab to continue running whatever tests she had lined up for the rest the night. He wished them all luck, prayed for a miracle, and boarded the elevator that would take him to the parking structure. Along the ride, he found himself remembering every time Ziva had shared some exchange behind its doors. It didn't seem fair that now he rode it alone.

Lost in his memories of Ziva, he wasn't exactly surprised to find himself missing the exit that led to his apartment. Neither was he surprised to find himself parked beside her car, oblivious to the fact that this was where he'd planned on going all along. His body was on autopilot up until he found himself at her door with the key in the lock, forcibly turning it to let himself in. He was greeted by a whiff of her perfume, spicy and exotic, carried on the wave of cool air. He closed the door behind him, but no longer expected Ziva to materialize in the entryway to greet him.

His legs carried him through the foyer and into the living room, where he'd stood numerous other times with a movie and a box of pizza in his hand. It felt like lifetimes ago, and he felt himself getting caught up in a sudden tide of desolation that left him breathless and unable to move. He clutched the necklace he'd kept in his pocket all day as though Ziva would reappear through willpower alone. He wasn't exactly surprised when she didn't.

Why was he torturing himself? He should be at home, sleeping. Agonizing wasn't going to bring her home any sooner.

He had almost turned to leave when the doorknob began to rattle. His hand automatically went to rest on the gun at his hip, flicking the safety off of his Sig. Unrealistically, he hoped Ziva was the one coming through the door. She would wonder what the hell he was doing there, get mad, and kick him out. By the time the door had fully opened, he was looking forward to Ziva's livid expression almost more than he was looking forward to his next breath. Instead he was met with the tear-reddened eyes and slow smile of his favorite forensic scientist.

It took him a second to find his voice.

"What are you doing here, Abs?" he asked, taking his hand from the butt of his gun. He flicked the safety back on.

"I knew you wouldn't go home," she said by way of explanation. "Gibbs sent me home, too."

"McGee?"

"Still there when I left," Abby replied. "Gibbs had him working on something." She laughed. "Probably something illegal. He was really focused."

"You should be home, Abby," Tony said quietly. "Tomorrow is going to be a long day. You should get some rest."

"What about you?" Abby asked, taking a seat on the arm of the couch.

"I'll see you in the morning."

"You're not going home?"

Tony shook his head. "Not for a little while. I'm going to snoop around a bit; see if I missed anything."

"You didn't, Tony," Abby said. Knowing him as well as she did, she was willing to bet he'd already been through the apartment a million times. Judging by the fact that they were still standing in empty apartment, she knew there had been nothing left to find.

Tony didn't answer. "Have you gotten any luck with the prints from my DVD?"

"Not so far," she replied. "The only prints I've found were yours and Ziva's. But I'll keep trying, I swear."

He gave her a weak smile. "I know you will."

"She knows you're human, you know. You won't be letting her down if you sleep," she reminded gently. "Ziva's the super assassin, not you."

"Go home, Abby."

Her eyes scrunched up in determination. "I'll leave when you do."

"Suit yourself," he said and pretended to be annoyed, knowing already that Abby would see right through it. In truth, he thought he could use the company. It would save him from himself. He watched as Abby took a seat on the couch, curling her legs under her.

"What do you think you'll find?" she asked from the couch, watching him open a drawer and close it. She thought the action was a bit superfluous; theodds of Ziva's kidnapper leaving a signed note in the drawer were kind of steep.

"I'll know it when I see it," he answered, distracted with pushing her mail around with a pen. "She left me the movie and her necklace. She might have left me something else."

"I don't get it, Tony," Abby said wistfully, clutching a throw pillow in her arms. "Ziva kicks serious butt on a daily basis. Why would she just walk off without a fight?"

"I have no idea," he replied honestly. "As far as we can tell, it was just the one guy."

"Then why didn't Ziva pulverize him?" she practically begged. He saw the tears building up in the corners of her eyes. "Why would she leave?"

Tony sympathized; he was just as desperate for answers. He didn't have any to give her, and that fact hurt them both.

"It's going to be okay, Abs," he said softly, hoping the words would comfort at least one of them. "We'll get her back."

"We have to, Tony," she said, her voice breaking. She held the pillow tighter against her, clutching it like a life line. "First Kate, then the director… we can't lose her, too. We just can't."

"We're not going to lose her," Tony said adamantly. "Watch, this time tomorrow we'll all be sitting around the lab listening to Ziva tell us how thoroughly she beat the hell out of the guys that had her." Abby laughed, Tony took temporary solace in the sound. "I'm sure she's taken out half of D.C. by now, trying to get back. She's making her escape as we speak armed with only her wit and a handful of paperclips, leaving a trail of bodies in her wake."

Abby couldn't help but laugh at the thought. "She would have called to tell us where she is, but one of them snuck up on her and she had to kill him with the cell phone."

At this, Tony laughed. "Yeah, she shoved it down the guy's throat. You can't really make a call like that. The roaming charges are murder."

She laughed and leaned into Tony has he sat beside her. "Oh, Tony. I miss her so much."

"Me too, Abs," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Me too."

"When she comes back, I'm never picking on her ever again," she said. "I'm going to bring her cupcakes to work every day."

"She knows you care about her," he said. "She doesn't need all that to know you like her."

"I really like her, Tony," she said. "I don't really have that many girl friends. Having Ziva for a friend was kind of a nice change from talking to you guys all the time." She paused. "Not that I don't like talking to you guys. I just don't talk to you guys about… girl stuff."

Tony chuckled and took the comment for what it was. "She's crazy about you, Abby. I don't think many women like her, either."

"Women don't like me?"

Oops.

"I meant that she doesn't have a lot of girl friends, either," he corrected. "And of course women like you. McGee certainly seems to."

Abby laughed. "You should really be nicer to him, but then you wouldn't be Tony."

"No, I wouldn't," he said.

They sat for a little while in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Before too long, Tony noticed that Abby had gone slack against him. Her breathing was deep and rhythmic. He smiled, knowing she'd fallen asleep. Careful not to wake her, he removed his arm from her shoulders and slowly got up from the couch. He guided her head down to the cushion of the couch and let her lay there, content to let her get some sleep while she could.

Knowing Ziva's apartment the way he did, he went to the closet and had no trouble finding a few extra pillows and blankets. He came back to the living room and carefully lifted Abby's head to slide a pillow under it before covering her with the blanket. She shifted only slightly into its warmth and then stayed still. Convinced that she would be sleeping for quite a while, Tony threw his own pillow on the floor and lay down on top of it.

He kicked his shoes off and pulled the blanket around his shoulders, not the least embarrassed that he was sleeping on Ziva's floor. He didn't want to wake Abby, and he wasn't going to leave her there. If Ziva's kidnapper came back for some reason or another, he couldn't deal with Abby being gone, too. He would stand watch for a little while; keeping Abby safe was almost enough to make him feel wanted again.

That thought in mind, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him.


	12. Dead Ends

**Author's Note:**

**I'm sorry this chapter took a little longer to get put up. I'm currently in the process of moving to a new apartment, so when I'm not doing that I'm completely exhausted. Anyway, here it is!**

**Chapter Twelve**

"**Dead Ends"**

While Abby and Tony slept, wrapped tight in their memories of her, Ziva stared at the decrepit ceiling above her head and waited for the door to open. It was going on five in the morning, and it still hadn't. She didn't know whether to be worried or grateful; Kenny had yet to make an appearance since he left her down there two nights ago. The remainder of the time she had spent with Leslie or by herself. She had to wonder if they left her alone at all, but she wasn't willing to risk finding out. A possible escape plan was hatching itself in her mind, but it wouldn't do her any good at the moment. She had to be sure that Tony was safe first.

She checked her stolen cell phone every so often, hoping to find a signal. She never did, though, and so she was left locked alone in a cold basement. Sleep wouldn't come, and she guessed she didn't want it to. It wouldn't make sense to let her guard down long enough to sleep, though she doubted she had too much to worry about in regard to her captors. She didn't take Kenny for a liar, and took his word at face value. She was alive for the moment, until he no longer needed her. When the time came that he didn't, though, she'd be ready.

They had given her three meals that day, though apparently neither of them could cook very well. Her stomach had been upset by the meager rations and hadn't stopped cramping since she got there. They had also given her the luxury of a shower that she couldn't exactly take advantage of because Leslie had been standing in the bathroom with her. Ziva gritted her teeth and bore it while Leslie told her all about how her cop friends were hanging around the bar asking a lot of questions.

"They're investigating you, you know," she said smugly, leaning against the closed door. "They think you're the one who killed all those men." Leslie laughed. "Imagine that. You might have a use after all. Gunshot wound and one suicide note later and we're in the clear."

Ziva smirked. "You cannot honestly believe that they are accusing me of the murders," she said. "They are trying to find me, and they are looking there. They will close in soon, I hope you know."

Leslie scoffed. "I doubt it. That young one—not Tony, the other one—he didn't look like he had half a clue about what he was doing. He must be new."

"A lot of people think that about him," she replied, thinking of McGee's sweet smile but incredibly quick mind. "They are always proven wrong."

"Whatever," Leslie said. "Just hurry up."

But that was the night before, and the door still hadn't burst open. The lock remained firmly secured, and the house didn't stir. She kept waiting to see Tony stampede down the stairs, there to save her. She was convinced beyond herself that they were looking for her, trying to rescue her, but as the night passed her doubts grew. Where were they? She couldn't believe that Kenny's plan to make them believe she'd left had worked. They all knew she wouldn't leave them without a goodbye.

She hoped they did, anyway. Above and beyond everything else, she hated that Kenny had made her doubt the people she loved most in the world.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Abby woke in an unfamiliar place to a very familiar smell. Despite the fact that she had no idea where she was, she smelled Ziva's perfume. Where was she? Before her brain had time to wake itself up without the help of caffeine, she called out into the presumably empty room.

"Ziva?"

Something stirred on the floor below her. It made a horrible sound that reminded her of a car crash and she sat up, prepared to go down swinging it if came to that. The thing moved again and she sat back on the couch, hardly noticing when the blanket fell from her shoulders. She stared, fixated, when the thing sat up and reared its massive hair at her.

She yelped and swung her pillow at it, laughing as it landed with a _thud_. It grunted again, this time its noises resembling English. Its tricks wouldn't fool her; she swung again, and this time it had the good sense to hit the floor.

"Abby!"

She blinked. That voice sounded incredibly familiar.

"Abby!"

"Tony?"

"What are you doing?" he asked, sitting up again. He watched her pillow in case she decided to swing again.

"I thought you were a monster," she blurted out before she had the sense to think of something that didn't make her sound like a five-year-old. She blushed when he looked at her with wide eyes. "Sorry."

"Jeez," he said, letting his head fall back down to the pillow. He sighed, internally cursing her, before instantly sitting straight up. "What time is it?"

Abby looked at her watch. "A little after six."

"Let's get going," he said. "Gibbs is probably already at the office waiting on us."

Abby nodded and stood up. She noticed the blanket falling off her and she turned to Tony with an adoring smile on her face.

"Aww, Tony," she said. "You gave me a blanket."

Tony gave her a strange look. "I didn't want you to get cold."

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "No wonder Ziva's crazy about you."

Tony pulled away. "What?"

"Of course she is," she said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. She studied his face; he'd paled and he had a thousand-yard stare. "Why do you look like you just drank bleach?"

"Hmm?" he asked, his eyes gradually focusing on her again. "What was that?"

"You're a strange one," she said, patting him on the shoulder and heading for the front door. Tony had to laugh at the idea, despite the fact that his head had been sent spiraling by Abby's casual observation.

"Me? Strange?" he laughed. "Yeah, so says the mistress of the dark covered in tattoos."

"Millions of people have tattoos, Tony," she pointed out. "That's not really all that strange, statistically."

"Whatever you say," Tony said as he spared himself one more glance at Ziva's apartment. He closed the door behind them, ushering Abby down the hall. "Do you need to go home?"

"Yeah, I need to change clothes," she said, walking down the hall. "As do you. Gibbs will know neither of us went home if we decide to show up in the same clothes we left in."

Tony laughed at the memory of Ziva's horror going into work in the same clothes she left in the night before.

"Yeah, good point," he allowed. "Then we split up, and meet back at headquarters in twenty."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tony walked out of the elevator two minutes after seven o'clock, and wasn't incredibly surprised to see that a warm coffee cup was sitting on Gibbs' desk. A smile turned up the corner of his mouth to find McGee asleep face-first on his desk, a small web connecting the edge of his mouth to the desk. The poor schmuck hadn't even loosened his tie, Tony noticed. He looked down at the hot coffee in his hand and set it on McGee's desk, thinking that the younger agent would probably need it a hell of a lot more than he did.

"Morning, Probie!" he shouted obnoxiously, not bothering to stifle the laughter that bubbled up at the sight of McGee starting awkwardly awake.

"Got it, boss," McGee mumbled almost incoherently. "Got it right here." He looked around and saw Tony laughing and scowled before letting his head fall back on his desk. "Oh. It's you."

"What do you got, McGee?" he asked, moving behind him to peer over his shoulder at the computer screen. He read over the words at the top of the page. "Ziva's bank statements? You're dead meat when she finds out, Probie."

"I can live with it," McGee answered. "Right now, that's the least of my worries."

"What's the most of them?"

"A week ago, Ziva received a very large donation to her checking account," he said. "It's probably a fluke, but it doesn't make her case any easier for us."

Tony looked at the numbers in question and almost choked, thinking she must have had several more donations at some time or another.

"Are those real?"

"I know," McGee said, completely aware of what Tony was losing his mind over. "I thought I had money."

It was a hell of a lot of zeroes, Tony thought as he scanned his eyes over McGee's computer screen. "So the crazy ninja chick is loaded?"

"Not surprising," McGee said. "Look at who her father is. He was the one that sent the gift, by the way. I was up all night chasing the money trail."

"So, what?" Tony asked. "He sends Ziva an early birthday present? That's not suspicious."

"Possible," McGee said. "She hasn't touched it, though, for whatever reason. None of the activity in her account is out of the ordinary. Groceries, gas. Dinner occasionally, but not much else."

"We're so dead if she finds out we did this."

"You'll be dead sooner, DiNozzo, if you don't have something for me," Gibbs said, walking around the corner of the bullpen. Tony stood up straight and received a casual blow to the back of the head for his trouble.

"Right, boss," he said. "McGee says Daddy David sent Ziva a ton of money a week ago."

"Quarter of a million," McGee added. "But it's been completely untouched. Her expenses are otherwise normal."

"If she was planning on going AWOL, wouldn't she have cleaned out her bank account?" Tony asked, thinking that the detail proved her innocence.

"Not if she knew it would help us build a case," McGee said quietly and instantly regretted his objectivity when Tony whirled around to face him.

"Whose side are you on, McTraitor?" he asked. "We're not building a case _against _her. We're trying to find her."

"I know that, Tony," McGee said remorsefully. "But shouldn't we be able to see both viewpoints and anticipate what everyone else is going to say?"

He eyed the younger agent. "Yeah. Whatever you say, Brutus."

"Cut it out, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, sitting behind his desk. "McGee is doing his job, like you _should _be doing. Go have a talk with Abby."

"What about, boss?" he asked and was answered only by an incredibly menacing glare. "Right. Going now."

His talk with Abby was much more eventful.

"The smudged print on Ziva's cell phone is the same smudged print from your DVD," Abby said, lining up the prints on the computer screen in front of them. "There's a five-point match. It's not incredible, but it could hold up in court if we get a full print to match it to."

"Can we run it through the databases?" he asked.

"We could," Abby said. "It would take forever, and it would send back a few hundred hits. I'm still going to run it, but it won't do much good for the purposes of identification."

"What else do we have?"

"Major Mass Spec's report tells us that the chemical strain of cyanide that was found in Adam Cunningham's bar glass was the same found in the other four sets of drugs," Abby continued. "So we know that the one who poisoned Cunningham is the same who poisoned the other four, which confuses me."

"What's confusing about it?" Tony asked.

"Why give up the whole drug bit?" Abby said. "I thought serial killers were consistent about that kind of thing."

Tony shrugged. "The guy probably thought it wasn't a safe bet anymore," he said. "Everyone would know that people were dying from bad drugs, so he wouldn't have had any takers. Someone he approached might go to the police."

"Too risky?"

"Pretty much," he said. "He would have gotten caught a lot faster if he'd stuck with it."

Abby nodded. "Okay."

Tony's phone vibrated in his pocket and he opened to find a text message from McGee.

"Gotta run, Abs," Tony said, moving towards the elevator. "McGee says he found something."

When he came back to the bullpen, McGee was at his computer and Gibbs was standing in front of the plasma.

"I didn't catch it the first time because the records were sealed," McGee said, pulling his computer screen up on the larger screen. "But Drew Connor has a little brother with a record."

"How did you unseal them, Probie?"

"You're not the only one with connections, DiNozzo," Gibbs grumbled and nodded his head for McGee to continue.

"Alex Connor served six months in a juvenile facility for possession with intent to sell," McGee said. "Cocaine."

"Where is he now?"

"San Diego, California," McGee read. "He owns a surf shop."

"Of course he does," Tony said. "I don't suppose he's been visiting his brother, has he?"

"Not that I can tell," McGee said. "Doesn't own a car, and there have been no flights on any of the family's credit cards to or from San Diego. No rental car receipts."

"Phone calls?"

"One every two weeks or so to Drew Connor," he said, presenting phone records on the plasma for them to view. "Once a week to their parents."

"You think Connor's been getting tips on the drug trade, boss?" Tony asked.

"Only one way to find out," Gibbs replied, turning away from them. "DiNozzo, you're with me. McGee, see what else you can dig up on Drew Connor."

"On it, boss," McGee replied and watched them march towards the elevator.

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The firm where Drew Connor worked was on the corner of Second and Colonial, and was modeled after what Tony assumed was modern architecture. It stuck awkwardly into the blue sky with three separate jagged edges, ruthlessly piercing the otherwise tranquil district of the nation's capitol. The interior was sleek gold and black, giving the impression of cool professionalism and plenty of coin. Gibbs didn't seem to notice, though, as he walked through the revolving glass doors, approached the reception desk and pulled out the badge to show the mousy woman behind the desk.

"NCIS," he rattled off reflexively. "We need to speak to Drew Connor."

"Just one moment," she said, eyeing both men. She picked up the phone and hit a button, waiting for the line to connect. Tony heard a woman's voice first, followed by elevator music, and then finally a man's.

"Mr. Connor, two men are here to see you," she said into the mouthpiece. "They're from some kind of agency." A pause. "No, not them. Navy something or other. Yes, sir."

She hung the phone up and faced them again. "Mr. Connor will see you. Go up to the seventh floor, and his office will be at the far left end of the hallway."

They walked off without another word and boarded the elevator. Tony thought it was a little surreal to be in an elevator that Gibbs didn't feel like he could stop at whim. Rather than doing so, Gibbs turned to him in the otherwise empty elevator.

"Does he know you?" he asked.

"He's seen me," Tony said, remembering their brief run-in at the bar and his own idiocy. "He knows I know Ziva, but I don't think he knows I'm a Fed."

"Hang back," Gibbs ordered as the elevator rested on the seventh floor.

"What? Why?"

"If he doesn't know Ziva is NCIS, it could spook him into killing her."

This shut Tony up completely, belying the fact that the inside of his head was screaming for a chance to put his hands on the man.

"Give me your wallet," Gibbs said, holding his hand out.

"What?" Tony asked and Gibbs said nothing. "Yeah, okay."

Gibbs bypassed the cards and bills in the leather Armani contraption, looking instead through the random other pockets and didn't normally hold anything important. He found what he was looking for behind Tony's old movie ticket stubs. He pulled the picture of Ziva out—it was a snapshot most likely taken from a camera phone; she was laughing at something—and handed the wallet back to Tony, who looked at him with wide eyes. He could only be grateful that he'd chosen to keep the pictures of Ziva and her bikini elsewhere.

"How did you…" he started to sputter. "It's-"

"Save it, DiNozzo," he said, turning to hide the small smile creeping onto his face. He used to keep his picture of Jenny in the same place, and Ducky had a valid point when Gibbs used to be exactly like Anthony DiNozzo.

Gibbs let himself into the office, not bothering to knock. He found Drew Connor sitting in a wing-backed chair behind a sensible wooden desk. The man regarded Gibbs with uneasy eyes, recognizing him instantly as the unfathomably intimidating man who had been asking him questions a few nights before. Sensing that the visit wasn't entirely social, Drew sat up straight to at least give the appearance of security. Gibbs wasn't buying it.

"Uh, good morning, sir," he stammered.

"Gibbs," the man replied.

"Gibbs," Drew repeated, wondering how his mouth got so dry so fast. "What can I help you with this morning?"

"You know this woman, don't you, Mr. Connor?" Gibbs said, handing him a picture he recognized immediately.

"Anna," he said, taking the picture from him. She was breathtaking. "She's a bartender at Low Tide."

"When's the last time you saw her?"

"The other night… Sunday, I guess it was."

"You haven't been back to the bar since then?" Gibbs asked, taking the picture back from him.

Drew shook his head. "No. I was still pretty freaked from the last time I was there. Why?" he asked. "What's happened?"

Gibbs ignored the question. "Why do you go to a bar that's mostly sailors, Mr. Connor?"

"A couple of my friends used to take me," he explained. "I really liked the place, so I go while they're shipped off elsewhere."

"Your friends have names?"

"What's this about?" Drew asked, unsure of what would happen to his friends if he gave their names to a federal investigator. "You didn't answer my question earlier."

"What question would that be?"

"Has something happened to Anna?" he asked. "Why did you have her picture?"

"She's a person of interest in an ongoing investigation," Gibbs said robotically.

"Person of interest?" Drew reiterated. "What, you want to interrogate her or something?"

"Or something," Gibbs said cryptically. "Does that mean you haven't heard from her recently?"

"I already said I haven't," Drew replied, gradually finding his voice. He remembered the sly smile and warm brown eyes of the woman in question. "I don't think Anna would do anything to hurt anyone."

"How well do you know her, Mr. Connor?" he asked. "She'd only been working at the bar a few days."

"I don't. Not really," he amended. "We talked over drinks a few nights and that's it."

"Then let me decide what she is and isn't capable of," he said, leaving very little room for argument of any kind. When he walked away, Gibbs was convinced—this man wasn't who they were looking for. If he'd had Ziva, he would have tried to lay blame rather than defend her. As much as he didn't like admitting it, Drew Connor was innocent. Gibbs could feel it.

Tony was practically climbing the walls when Gibbs came back out of the office, looking annoyed but satisfied. He immediately stood up and followed when Gibbs made his way to the elevator again.

"What did he say?" he asked as the elevator doors closed in front of them.

"Nothing," Gibbs said. "He doesn't have Ziva."

"He told you that?" Tony asked and was answered by a pointed look. "You don't think he has Ziva."

Before he could interrogate him further, Gibbs' phone rang.

"Yeah, Gibbs," he said and heard McGee's voice on the other end of the line.

"The warrant for Low Tide just came in," McGee said. "I'm having a court officer bring to me and I'll meet you with it there." Gibbs closed the phone and walked out of the elevator as it landed on the ground floor.

"Where are we going?" Tony asked, following.

"To get a beer."


	13. Danger in Frustration

**Author's Note:**

**Not that I suppose any of you mind, but I finished this chapter a lot sooner than I thought I would so it didn't make much sense to wait to post it. Thank you all for the marvelous reviews! They keep me going, so keep them coming. =) **

**Chapter Thirteen**

"**Danger in Frustration"**

McGee was waiting patiently in front of the bar when he watched the dark blue car pull haphazardly into two parking spaces simultaneously. Gibbs marched out seeming relatively calm and Tony followed, looking a bit frazzled and more than a little carsick. McGee figured Gibbs must not have been in the mood for driving safely, and he couldn't exactly blame him. He didn't feel like being hospitable that morning, either, and Gibbs was far less generous. Especially in traffic. Faced with Gibbs' killer stare, he held out the court documents and watched as Gibbs scanned his eyes over them.

"The whole place?"

"The whole place," McGee affirmed. "I don't think anyone's in the building right now, boss. It's still pretty early."

"Then we won't be interrupted, will we, McGee?"

"No, boss," he said and fell into step behind Tony. He lowered his voice a little. "What happened with Connor?"

"Boss doesn't think he's our guy," Tony said, obviously unhappy with the decision, and materialized his lock pick set when Gibbs stood back impatiently from the door. The tumblers clicked into place within a few seconds and he opened the doors to let the other two walk through. The bar was completely devoid of all life, and wholly dark without the benefit of bad lighting and cheesy neon signs.

"McGee, take the back," Gibbs ordered. "DiNozzo, behind the bar."

Both men answered with swifts nods of their heads and retreated to their respective tasks. Tony immediately knelt down to the shelves below the bar and sifted through labels, finding only liquor in its varying forms rather than a glaring skull and crossbones label reading "WARNING: CYANIDE." Hey, not even the great Tony DiNozzo got those kinds of breaks.

McGee found himself staring at the ingredients for bad bar food rather than potential murder weapons—or trap doors, for that matter—and was completely exhausted within minutes of this particular assignment. The coffee Tony had left him hadn't helped much in the long run, and there wasn't much that would help the pain radiating up his neck from falling asleep at his desk in the dark hours of that morning. His only hope was that one of them found something useful enough to bring Ziva home.

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At the end of three of the longest hours of his life, Tony was desperate.

Every table and chair had been overturned and every canned, bottled, or otherwise packaged substance had been chemically tested for traces of cyanide. None had tested positive, and they were all at a loss for words as well as leads. McGee looked positively exhausted, and Tony was just tired enough to feel a little sorry for him. They'd lost their jackets and ties two hours before, and now anxiously rolled up their sleeves for lack of anything else they could do. Both contemplated grabbing something to drink, but almost immediately thought better of the idea.

"Any luck?" Tony asked, using the back of his hand to wipe away the sweat forming itself along his brow.

"Not a thing," McGee said. "Something's got to be here. The cyanide was in the guy's drink for God's sake."

"Someone could have poured it in when he wasn't looking," Tony reminded.

"While you weren't looking?" McGee asked. "You said the guy sat ten feet from you all night."

"I was gone for some of it," he said, regretting it and remembering how furious Ziva had been when he'd come up to the bar instead of staying put.

They stayed silent for a little while, taking a much needed breather. Memories popped up and flowed between them, though they didn't know it. Tony's throat burned with all the words he could have been telling his partner and best friend for three years, and McGee sat wondering if he would ever find another woman to give him advice without teasing him. Though it killed them both, they were thinking the same thoughts. They both wondered if they were already too late.

"Are we looking in the wrong place, Probie?" Tony asked quietly, ducking his head to hide the fact that he was doubting everything. "Why can't we find anything?"

They both knew what he was going to say before he said it, though neither of them understood what the answer could mean.

"Maybe there's nothing to find."

They heard the front door being pushed open, though neither of them paid it much notice. Gibbs had left earlier in hopes that Abby had found something, and so they were expecting their leader when a tall blonde woman walked in the door. She looked at them first with surprise, then with panic.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, eyeing the tables they'd cleared off in favor of random chemical testing equipment. "What is all this?"

"We have a warrant to search the building," McGee said, producing the document and handing it to her.

"What are you looking for?" she asked, barely looking at the search warrant.

"Cyanide," Tony said from his resting place against the bar. "Or proof that it's been here recently."

Leslie eyed him. "You're not a real cop."

"My badge begs to differ," he said, holding it up. "Tell me; are you as good with poisons as you are with alcohol?"

She stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you might," he said, walking closer and finding himself toe-to-toe with her. He used the fact that he was taller to intimidate her shamelessly—at that particular moment in time, he didn't care. He watched with some satisfaction as she shrunk the tiniest bit under his stare.

"Why are you looking here?" she asked, focusing on a spot just above his left ear. "What about the other guy?"

"What other guy?" Tony asked and raised his voice when she didn't immediately answer. "_What _other guy?"

"The guy Anna didn't like," Leslie answered quickly. "The cop with the gray hair was talking to him the other night."

"Drew Connor?" Tony asked, supplying a name when he probably shouldn't have. He needed to hear his name; he needed an excuse to wring the life out of the man.

"I don't know his name," Leslie said adamantly. "I just remember that Anna said she had a bad feeling about him."

She should have said something, Tony thought. Maybe then they wouldn't be looking for her. The thought angered him, but the anger wasn't directed at Ziva. It was directed at the man who had her.

Tony walked out of the bar without another word, despite McGee's questioning and frantic calls after him. His cell phone vibrated at his side, and promptly ignored the call when he realized it was McGee calling. Knowing already that there would be some kind of hell to pay, he strode purposefully to McGee's car and unlocked it with the keys he'd swiped as he made his exit. He fishtailed out of the parking lot and headed back to where he'd come from a few hours before.

One shitty parking job and a confused receptionist later, Tony was in the elevator heading up to Drew Connor's office. He didn't know exactly what he had in mind, but a nice chat wasn't at the top of his list of possibilities.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I need a match on a print, Abs," Gibbs said, striding into the lab with a small plastic bag in one hand and gallon of pure caffeine in the other.

Abby stood at attention, both at the sound of his voice and the sight of her beloved Caf-Pow. "Is it for Ziva?"

Gibbs nodded.

"Double-rush, then," she replied, taking the bag as well as the beverage. "Where is the print in question?"

"Bottom right-hand corner," he instructed and watched as she carefully dusted the corner of the picture.

"Perfect right thumb on the front," she said, applying a strip of adhesive to the powder to pull the fingerprint off. "And most likely a perfect right index finger on the back. Let me load it into the computer, and I'll have your answer in a few minutes."

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Drew Connor was sitting in his office, debating the aesthetic and functional appeal of bay windows when his door opened. He raised his head, expecting to see his secretary, when instead he was faced with a face he recognized from the hellish night earlier that week. He was Anna's... acquaintance. Though surprised, he was less than thrilled to see the man who obviously made Anna so uncomfortable. He had a brief thought of a psycho ex, but he dismissed the thought quickly to keep from scaring the hell out of himself before the man had spoken a single word.

"Can I help you?" he asked from his chair.

"You can tell me where Ziva is," the man said quietly, though Drew didn't trust the calm in his voice. Something told him it came before the storm.

"I don't know anyone named Ziva," he said honestly, not quite daring to hope that the man had him mistaken for someone else.

"Oh, you know her well enough," he said, walking forward. "You've known her for days, in fact. She told you her name was Anna."

A face popped into his mind. "What about her?"

"I want to know where she is," the man said slowly. "If you tell me quick enough, you won't need a feeding tube when I'm done with you."

Drew swallowed hard, watching with quickly mounting dread as the man unplugged the phone on his desk from the cable that connected him to the outside world.

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"Got it!" Abby cried and Gibbs turned back to the computer screen from where he'd been staring out the window.

"Is it a match?"

"No good," Abby said. "This print on the right is the one you gave me. It belongs to Drew Connor, an architect in D.C. The ones on the left are the smudged prints from Ziva's cell phone and Tony's DVD. They don't match."

Gibbs was about to comment with the phone at his hip vibrated.

"Yeah, Gibbs," he answered, watching Abby go back to her computers.

"It's Tony," the voice said. "Well, I'm not Tony, but it's about Tony."

"Spit it out, McGee."

"Tony took off," McGee said. "The other bartender came in and mentioned Drew Connor and he took off."

"Meet me there," Gibbs ordered, marching out of Abby's lab.

"I can't, boss," he said. "Tony took my car."

Gibbs scoffed and closed the phone, heading into the elevator and willing it to speed the hell up. He knew Tony as well as he knew himself, and that meant he knew exactly where Tony was going. It also meant he knew exactly what Tony was going to do if Gibbs didn't get there in time to stop him.

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Anthony DiNozzo was not a violent person by nature. He was a lover, through and through, but knew how to hold his own in a fight. When it came down to it, he would rather hold hands than hold a gun… but that was only under normal circumstances. Today, he felt like a fundamental part of him had snapped and had left him in the grips of a complete and carnal rage that incinerated him from the inside out. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think; all he could do was act. The only thing he consciously acknowledged was Ziva, and the man who stood malevolently between them. Unfortunately for Drew, he'd caught him on a day where he would rather empty a couple of clips into something breathing than sit down and have a rational discussion.

Tony could see the fear in the man's face and he enjoyed it despite himself. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he knew it was sick to enjoy someone else's terror. But right then, right at _that _very moment, he couldn't have cared less. As if the silence wasn't tense enough, Tony laughed a little. He had the brief thought that he sounded like a Bond villain.

"Scared, Drew?"

"Who wouldn't be?" he replied. "What is this about?"

"I told you already," he said.

"I haven't seen Anna in days," Drew told him, and Tony almost laughed. The lie was so obvious it hurt. "I told that to the other guy who was in here."

"And he believes you," Tony said, sitting on the corner of the man's desk. "Unfortunately for you, I don't."

"I'm telling you the truth."

"Yeah, I still don't believe you," he replied, standing in front of his desk and staring him in the eye. "Tell me where she is."

"I don't know," Drew said and his eyes involuntarily flitted to the shoulder holster and the revolver at his hip.

Tony noticed his gaze. "Okay, let's try this again." He drew the gun and dramatically set it on the desk. "Tell me where she is."

Drew's eye twitched a little. "I didn't even know Anna was missing until you told me," he tried to reason. "How could I have taken her?"

"You tell me. It's not hard to figure out," he replied. "It wouldn't be the first time someone had lied to a federal agent."

"You're a cop?" Drew asked incredulously, eyeing the gun sitting a few inches away again. Somehow, the idea didn't provide any comfort whatsoever. "Was Anna a cop, too?"

"Yeah, she is. She's my partner," he replied. "She was working undercover when she disappeared. You were our number one suspect."

"She suspected me?"

"We all did," Tony said. "Obviously, I still do."

"I thought she liked me," Drew said, trying to maintain his composure in the face of the man's lunacy. "She was sweet."

"You've been saying 'was', Drew," Tony said, his voice straining. He reached for the gun. "Did you kill her already?"

"What? No!" he exclaimed. "I would never hurt Anna."

"Her name is _Ziva,_" Tony yelled, pulling the hammer back on his Sig. "Did you kill her?"

"No!"

"Where is she?"

"I don't know!"

"How did you get her to leave?" Tony violently demanded, though genuinely curious. "She wouldn't have just walked out with you without a word."

"I didn't do anything."

"That's not good enough," he said, placing the cool barrel of the gun against the now fevered and sweating flesh of Drew's forehead. "What did you do with her?"

Drew felt himself shake. "I haven't done anything with her."

"I'm getting tired of that answer," he said, slowly moving his index finger from the trigger guard to bring it to the trigger itself. "In fact, I'm getting tired of this entire conversation. That includes you."

"Jesus," Drew said quietly, the situation turning completely surreal for him. "I'm telling you, I didn't hurt her."

"I'm telling you I don't believe you," Tony said and mercilessly started applying pressure to what he knew was an incredibly sensitive trigger.


	14. Dreams and Whispered Voices

**Author's Note:**

**Next chapter… woo! I don't really have anything else to note. Sorry.**

**Of course, reviews are always deeply appreciated.**

**Chapter Fourteen**

"**Dreams and Whispered Voices"**

Gibbs pushed his way through random people, ignoring their curses and insulted expressions as well as the receptionist's blustering after him in a single-minded search for the elevator. It opened within seconds of his frantic pushing of the button and he charged inside it, leaving the other few people in his wake completely confused. They sensed, though, that they didn't want to follow. They remained in the hall and Gibbs pressed the button for the elevator doors to close. The ride seemed infinitely long when he had no idea what was on the other end of it.

When the elevator reached its destination, he walked down the hallway and pressed his ear against the door to hear what was happening on the other side. The voices were quiet, but he could tell neither of them were calm. Tony was too anxious, Gibbs thought. He could hear the nerves humming in his voice. He heard Drew swear and felt that it was the best time to walk in, hoping that he wasn't too late. He thought momentarily of drawing his weapon, but he hoped desperately that he wouldn't need it.

He opened the door to find Tony sitting on the corner of the desk, holding a gun to Drew Connor's head. Tony's eyes flicked over at the movement, and Gibbs could see his grip on the weapon falter for the barest of moments. Tony kept his eyes locked on Drew rather than Gibbs, though, and he knew that wasn't a good sign.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs started, closing the door behind him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"He's lying, boss," Tony said with the utmost conviction.

"Put the gun down," he instructed carefully, wondering how difficult it was going to be to convince the younger agent to stand down. He mentally cursed when the man didn't budge. "Tony," he said more emphatically. "Put the gun down."

"What about Ziva?"

"It's not him, Tony," Gibbs said. "Abby cleared him."

This time, Gibbs saw the slight falter and decided to take advantage of it.

"He's innocent," Gibbs continued. "He doesn't have Ziva."

"But he..."

"He's _innocent_, DiNozzo," he said, more forcefully this time. "Give me your weapon, and stand down."

Tony's hands started to shake... _Could he have been so wrong? _The thought plagued him, piercing him and shattering him into a million pieces when he stared down the barrel of his Sig into the frightened eyes of a man who, ten short minutes ago, he was intent on killing without a second thought. Gibbs wouldn't lie to him; not about Ziva. He would never lie to him about Ziva. Would he?

Though his mind was thoroughly occupied, a firm grasp on his hand sent him over the edge. It looked completely surreal before his now-tearing eyes, and he had to fight to keep his head where it needed to be. The hand went around his wrist and worked on taking the weapon from his grasp. Knowing it was all lost—_he _was all lost—released his breath in a harsh gasp that rubbed his lungs raw and let Gibbs take the revolver from him, falling back off the desk.

"Jesus," he rasped, running his fingers through his hair. What the hell had gotten into him?

_Fear_, he thought decidedly. Fear had gotten into him.

"Don't move," Gibbs ordered abruptly and put the weapon well out of Tony's reach. Tony stumbled away and leaned his forehead against the wall before pounding his fist into it, sending a few picture frames falling to the ground. He heard muted voices in the background, but just barely over the roaring in his ears. It took him completely by surprise when his right arm was worked behind his back. The cold handcuffs clinked around his wrists and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Stay still," Gibbs ordered, bringing Tony's other arm around his back. When the handcuffs were in place, Gibbs pulled him off the wall.

Tony barely heard as Gibbs said something to Drew, pushing him forward as they exited the office. He wallowed in his own agony while Gibbs remained completely silent in the elevator, unsure of what to say. Tony's only thoughts were that he failed Ziva, he failed Gibbs, he failed McGee, he failed Abby... he was a failure. And now he was holding guns to innocent people on some kind of hallucinated crusade to find someone he wasn't even sure was missing anymore. And all the while Tony doubted Gibbs seethed.

The world was too bright when Tony got pushed through the revolving doors of the building and out into the sun. He winced, all too aware of the curious glances he was receiving from people who were on their way down the sidewalk. Gibbs marched him across the street to where the dark blue Charger was parked at the curb. He wasn't incredibly surprised when he was shoved into the side of the car, but was surprised when he felt the key to Gibbs' handcuffs turn in the lock and his wrists go free.

"Boss?" he asked shakily as he watched Gibbs circle around the side of the car. Gibbs said nothing, however, and climbed into the driver's seat. Tony followed suit, quickly shutting the door to eliminate the din of the traffic. He rubbed his wrists and looked at Gibbs with questioning eyes.

"It was either that," Gibbs started, "Or assault charges."

Tony nodded in muted understanding. "Thank you, boss."

Gibbs fell into a sour silence and Tony let his eyes roam out the window, content to let the tension between them stand for the time being. He knew that sometime in the near future, he would have to beg for forgiveness. He also knew that it wasn't going to be right that moment, because he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Adrenaline still coursed rapidly through his veins, making his hands shake. Gibbs seemed to notice and Tony fisted them at his sides, determined to keep still. Their silence provided a comfortable sanctuary through which his mind could wander. He knew exactly where the thoughts would go; the problem was deciding if that was where he wanted to be.

His first thought was the sight of Ziva's empty desk the next time he walked into work; her messy files and her backpack still thrown haphazardly in the corner. The sound of her squealing when the computer didn't work the way she wanted it to. The memory of her aggravated face made him smile a little out the window before it was quickly wiped off again by a stray thought.

Someone would undoubtedly come around in a few weeks to clean it out and assign it to someone else, he considered with no small amount of sorrow. Ziva's desk would, in a few weeks, belong to someone else. Lee, probably, now that Tony considered it. Lee would sit across the bullpen and fidget nervously, driving them all absolutely up the wall. She was a sweet kid, sure. But she wasn't Ziva. He never realized before that moment how much that simple thought bothered him.

McGee would be quiet, he thought to himself. Just like he was after Kate was killed. He wouldn't rise to Tony's baiting and he would mope around, content to leave himself with his thoughts rather than projecting his grief onto tormenting someone else. Tony didn't think he would bait him, anyway. Something told him that he wouldn't have the heart.

Gibbs would be pissed, undoubtedly, and would set himself out on another suicidal revenge mission. He would break every rule and law he could get his hands on in the typical Gibbs fashion, leaving Vance seething behind him to pick up the pieces of whatever Gibbs got into. Tony wondered off-handedly if he would follow him. It took him less than a second to decide that he would. Tony would follow the man to the ends of the earth if it meant finding the people responsible for Ziva's disappearance.

Abby would be heartbroken, Tony realized with a short breath catching in his chest. She would cry, and there was nothing he hated more than seeing her cry. Abby would mourn for a long time, he decided. She was the emotion of their particular dysfunctional family… she was the heart and soul that none of the rest of them dared to give themselves. She would hurt so badly if Ziva never came back, bringing in and feeling everyone else's pain along with her own.

Tony would never be the same. Oh, life would go on… but it wouldn't be worth it for him. Not really, anyway. He would stay with Gibbs, Abby, McGee, and Ducky. He would stay and do everything for them within his power, and he would keep doing his job. There would never be anyone else, though, who could take her place. Lee could put all the crappy law books she wanted on that desk, but to him it would always be Ziva's. It would always be her chair that he'd sabotaged in a brutal prank war. It would always be her keyboard that he pretended to need just so he could be close enough to touch her... but even that felt like a lifetime ago.

His eyes burned and he instantly braced himself. Not even over his dead body would he cry in front of Gibbs. Never, not in a million years. But the memories were there… picking at him until he bled. For a little while he thought he was hallucinating. Could he smell her shampoo in the air? No. It wasn't possible. His mind was playing tricks on him. But her skin… he could feel it under his fingertips. Her voice was echoing in his ears and it felt like she'd surrounded him, suffocating him. She was everywhere; just like it had been for him since the first time he'd realized he loved her. Not surprisingly, it had freaked him out more then.

A sudden slam on the car's brakes brought him roughly back into the land of the living, and Tony looked up to realize that they were parked in front of his apartment. He was being sent home, and he couldn't say he was sorry for it. Alone was exactly what he needed to be at that particular moment. He wanted silence more than just about anything else in the world, and his apartment would offer it. Of course, he considered that meant Gibbs was kicking him off the case. Did he care? Did anything even matter anymore?

"Get some rest," Gibbs ordered gruffly. "I'll call you."

"You know the numbers as well as I do, boss," Tony said quietly. "It's been two days. What are the chances we'll find her alive?"

Gibbs fixed him with a hard stare. "Ziva's a fighter."

"But she didn't fight," he said. "She walked out."

"Leverage," Gibbs explained. "Enough of it and you'll do what you're told. Ziva's no different."

"Yeah, maybe," Tony said and ducked his head, only to notice his service revolver still on Gibbs' hip. "Can I have my gun back, boss?"

Gibbs stared ahead. "Not just yet, DiNozzo."

"I'm not suicidal," Tony said, though he wasn't exactly sure why that was the first defense to come to mind.

Gibbs brought his hand up to connect with the back of Tony's head.

"I know that."

"Thank you, boss, for everything," Tony said, feeling no comfort in the usually comfortable gesture. "I'm sorry I let you down."

"You were stupid, DiNozzo," Gibbs said sternly, holding no punches. He knew Tony needed to hear what he had to say. "It wasn't the first time, and it sure as hell won't be the last. But I know why you did it."

"Do you?" Tony asked, looking up at him with tired eyes that were far beyond his years. "I'm not even sure why I did it."

"Because you're you," Gibbs explained. "And I probably would have done the same thing."

Tony gave a hollow laugh. "Would you?" he asked and Gibbs nodded. "Yeah, I think you would."

"Get some rest," Gibbs repeated and watched as Tony opened the door. "I'll call you when we get something."

"Will I be allowed back?" Tony asked as he stood just beside the car. "I know I screwed up."

"No one's saying any different," Gibbs said. "But we're not going to be able to help Ziva separated."

Tony nodded his assent and walked up the sidewalk, away from the car. He heard it speed off behind him, undoubtedly to pick McGee up from where Tony had ditched him at the bar. He wished them both the best of luck, but had sunk so far into his own depression that he didn't honestly believe they would have any. It was cowardly, he knew, but he fought to tell himself that it was realistic. He'd been a cop for too long to hold out hope for something he knew was statistically impossible. They'd find Ziva one day, he knew… but they would find her dead.

His apartment was still and dark, just the way he preferred it. He shut the door behind him and walked immediately into the kitchen, where a bottle of vodka was waiting on him. Hey, he thought. Who the hell cared? He was home for the day, and if he was going to be thinking of Ziva every day for the rest of his life he might as well be doing it drunk. He twisted the cap off the bottle and brought it to his lips, inwardly delighting at the intense burn of the clear liquid. The fire didn't cleanse, though, as it made its way down this throat. If anything, it made him feel dirtier. Determined to rid himself of the feeling, he drank again.

He leaned his back against the sparse kitchen counter and remembered Ziva sitting on it a few nights before… she was so alive then, he thought to himself. She had laughed with him, and her face had been flushed with the combination of liquor and laughter. God, he loved her like that. He should have committed every second of every day to remembering the way she sounded when she was happy instead of trying to talk himself out of loving her the way he did. It all seemed so pointless now that she was gone.

Vodka tasted better after you were already drunk, he thought to himself for the thousandth time in less than a year. He wasn't there yet, and it still tasted like acetone to him. Ziva didn't like it either, he remembered. She liked tequila more. He knew things like that about her, he realized before he'd had time to consider it. He knew she wore her hair up when she was already frustrated with herself, and she wore it down when she was more confident. She sang, too, and she wasn't half bad. He caught her humming from time to time, and was surprised to find her voice soothing in the midst of everything else. He knew she snored… the thought had him laughing into the still apartment. God, how he'd hated that. It didn't escape him that now he would kill to hear it one more time.

He pulled himself off the counter and felt the alcohol weigh his feet to the floor. Stumbling for only a second, he admitted that he might have been a little farther into the process than he'd thought earlier. He half-dragged himself back down the hallway and into the living room, where he collapsed onto the couch. He clumsily set his cell phone on the coffee table and leaned back to prop his feet up on it. The bottle found its way back to his mouth and he figured that drinking alone and in the dark wasn't so bad after all. Quiet so you could think, dark so the light couldn't hurt your bloodshot eyes... it wasn't so bad. Hell, even the vodka he was practically inhaling was starting to make him feel a hundred percent better.

Unable to stop himself, he started laughing. It started out as a few giggles, but then erupted into a fit. The raucous sound pierced the empty apartment and ricocheted off the bare walls. Despite the fact that it was starting to disturb him in the otherwise silent house, he kept on until the muscles in his stomach started to ache. Then, before he'd noticed the change, his previous tears of mirth had turned into sobs. They racked his body, sending his body into tremors until he'd dropped the bottle of vodka on the floor and it poured onto the hardwood. It ran along the boards unnoticed as Tony slid to his right, ending up with his face pressed against the couch cushion. His tears continued for a few more long minutes before the vodka and loss weighed his mind into sleep.

--

He shouldn't have been surprised that he dreamed of her. At first, he wasn't entirely sure it was a dream. He had picked his head up from the couch cushion to find her sitting next to him, a serene smile on her face. She looked exactly the way she had the last time he'd seen her.

"Ziva?" he asked tentatively, afraid that she would disappear into a cloud of smoke and he would wake to find himself alone again.

"Hello, Tony," she said.

"This is a dream, isn't it?" he asked, feeling as though he already knew the answer.

"I am afraid so," she said. "But I am not sure whose it is."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"If it were your dream, I would be naked," she said and they shared a laugh. She lifted a hand to wipe some of the tears away from his face. He leaned reflexively into her touch and comforted himself in her warmth.

"You make an excellent point," he said softly and studied her for a moment. "Where are you?"

"Right here," she said simply and left her answer at that. She made a face of disdain and Tony almost laughed despite himself. "What are you doing with yourself? Drinking like this?" she asked him. "You know how much I hate to see you knocking yourself up."

Tony couldn't help the laughter that erupted then. "Beating, Ziva. The word is _beating_."

She frowned. "What is the difference?"

"God, I miss you," he said, forgetting momentarily that his words wouldn't actually reach her. At that point, he didn't think he really cared, anyway.

"I miss you, too," she said.

"I should have told you," he said tearfully, sitting up and moving closer to her. "I never thought I wouldn't have the time."

"The time for what, Tony?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

"To tell you I loved you," he said, never once considering making a joke to ease the tension. "I loved you so much, Ziva."

"I love you," she said, though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Have you given up on me?"

"We couldn't find you," he returned. "We tried, but we couldn't."

"I am not dead, Tony," she said, frowning. "Is that why you are dreaming of me? Because you think I am dead?"

He faltered. "You're not?"

She shook her head adamantly. "No, Tony."

"This is a dream," he said, more to himself than to her. "Of course I would tell myself that you're still alive."

"Do not give up on me yet," she said and took his face into her hands to kiss him lightly on the lips. "Please, Tony. If you love me, do not give up."

"God, my subconscious is pathetic," he said and didn't hold back the mournful tone he felt deep under his skin. "I'm a walking cliché."

"Fine, do not believe me," Ziva said. "But you should answer your phone."

He blinked. "What?"

"Answer the phone," she repeated more emphatically.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked but looked over to see his cell phone ringing on the coffee table. The sound was intense and hurt his ears. He turned to ask Ziva who was calling only to find that she wasn't there.

--

He jerked awake and looked up to see if Ziva was still sitting beside him. She wasn't of course, and the realization was no small loss. Before he could give himself time to agonize over her, his attention was called to the phone on the table that was actually ringing. He cursed and leaned over to pick it up, not bothering to check the caller ID for a familiar number.

"What?" he asked gruffly, knowing he didn't want to talk to whoever was on the other line.

"Tony?" a voice whispered through the other line and his heart stopped for an incredibly long moment. All the air rushed out of his lungs and he fought to speak.

_"Ziva?"_


	15. Grave Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

**The feedback on the last chapter was outstanding. Thank you all so much for your kind words and support. They mean the world to me, honestly.**

**On with the show! Er… sort of.**

**Chapter Fifteen**

"**Grave Misunderstanding"**

"Ziva," Tony asked in a whisper, wondering it if was going to be another dream he would have to wake himself up from. That thought alone was almost enough to completely destroy him.

Thick static crackled on the line and he strained to hear through it. He thought he heard Ziva's voice… God, was this White Noise? How was this possible? He almost laughed at the idea that he'd managed to have a dream about something that hadn't happened yet. Unablet o get past it, the thought couldn't seem to help popping up in the back of his mind. If this was his idea of a joke he needed to get out more.

"Tony?" her voice said again, this time less obscured.

"I'm here," he said and almost cried with the joy of it when he admitted to himself that it was really her voice he was hearing. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I am alright," she said forcibly through the static of the phone. "… Leslie and… have me."

He strained to hear her better. "Who has you?"

"Leslie and Kenny," she said more emphatically, and Tony caught both names before the next wave of interference washed over the line. "… do not… woods... watching you."

"What?" he asked, praying the line didn't cut out. "Ziva, where are you?"

"Careful!" he heard her yell before another bout of static obliterated the line. He thought the line had gone dead before he heard her voice again, quieter now than she had been. If he hadn't known her like he did, he would have said there were tears in her voice. God, he thought… was Ziva crying?

"Please," she whispered roughly. "Please be careful."

"Ziva, I—" he started.

_Bang!_

Was that what he thought it was?

"Ziva?" he asked tentatively, wanting desperately to hear her voice on the other end of the line. Instead, all he heard was the dial tone. "Ziva!"

Jesus, he thought, his mouth having gone dry. The line was dead.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ziva lay on the worn-out old mattress, fighting the muscle spasms that racked her body. She wasn't sure what time it was—afternoon or evening sometime, she thought—and it had been several hours since she'd heard movement in the house above her. Was she alone? The thought wormed its way through the mist of pain and made her antsy. Deciding to try her luck, she once again pulled the pale blue cell phone from between the springs of her mattress, where she'd been hiding it for two days. She turned it on and found the one thing she wasn't expecting.

A signal.

Suddenly alert and intense, she sat straight up to study the phone. One bar… two… one again. The signal was dicey, but it was there. Praying fervently under her breath, she typed a few numbers out with shaking hands. To her complete and total relief, she watched the call connect. It rang a few times, and she heard the crackle of static over the line. Just before she gave up hope, a familiar voice came on the line.

"What?" the voice slurred. God, it was so good to hear him. The sound of his voice felt like her saving grace.

"Tony?" The name was almost a prayer.

Silence on the line, and then his voice was barely a whisper. "Ziva?"

All she heard was static. "Tony?" she asked through the poor reception, hoping that this wouldn't all be for nothing.

"I'm here," he said and she could hear the strain in his voice. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I am alright," she said. "Leslie and Kenny have me."

The line crackled. "Who has you?"

"Leslie and Kenny," she said a little louder, though admittedly afraid that she was wrong in her earlier assumption that she was alone. If someone happened to walk in at the wrong moment, she could get them both killed. "I do not know where I am; somewhere in the woods. They are watching you."

"What?" his voice barely cut through the interference. "Ziva! Where are you?"

"Be careful!" she said fiercely and listened to her own voice bounce awkwardly off the stone walls. She heard movement at the top of the stairs and held her breath. The lock on the door began to rattle and she knew someone was coming down to get her for whatever reason. Something told her she didn't have a lot of time to say what she needed to say.

"Please," she begged into the mouthpiece of the phone, feeling the tears burning the backs of her eyelids. "Please be careful."

"Ziva, I--"

The door at the top of the stairs slammed violently on its hinges and Ziva quickly snapped the phone shut, keeping it behind her back to hide it from the man currently walking down the stairs. She turned to face him with a glare that came all too easily; if she faced him anything less than absolute hatred, he would know something was was wrong. When Kenny smiled his predatory smile, she'd never felt more like prey in her life.

"Well that's not a pretty face," he said, coming to stand just under the hanging light in the top of the ceiling. "Did you miss me?"

"Not quite," she said, slipping the phone into her back pocket. "To what do I owe this visit? Has Leslie tired of me?"

"Nah, nothing like that," he said. "She's running around like a chicken with her head cut off, looking for her phone."

Ziva didn't as much as blink. "Is that so?"

"I keep telling her she should be more careful with it," Kenny said, eyeing her. "I don't suppose you've seen it."

"I am afraid not."

He held his hand out. "Sorry, sweetheart. I'm not buying it."

_Shit, _she thought. "Not buying what?"

"Give me the phone," he said cheerfully, though it wasn't enough to hide the edge that had come into his eyes.

"I do not have it," Ziva lied. God, what had made her take it in t he first place? What was she thinking?

"_Give me the phone!_" Kenny screamed gutturally and Ziva jumped. The hand he held out in front of her shook and the gleam in his eye told her that she didn't need to mess with him. Unsure of whether or not she would live to regret it, she pulled the phone out of her back pocket and placed it quickly in his hand. She met his eyes and she saw nothing but calm, scaring her more than the temporary psychosis had.

"I just knew you had it," he said, turning the phone over to take the battery out of it. He let it drop to the ground and he smashed it with his shoe. "Leslie's pretty enough, but she's not the brightest gal I've ever laid eyes on. I figured you must have slipped it into your pocket when you two had that little spat the other night."

"You are smarter than I have been giving you credit for, then," she said, determined to remain defiant in the face of his intimidation.

"That I am," he said, pulling another phone out of his own pocket. "Unfortunately for you, that means things are about to get a little rocky."

Ziva's breath caught in her chest. "What do you mean?"

"I told you right from the start that there were going to be consequences if you insisted on being a pain in my ass," he said. "You knew that, and you pulled this bullshit with the damn phone anyway. I just can't let that slide."

She watched him dial a number. "What are you doing?"

"I'm a man of my word, Ziva," he said, placing the phone up to his ear. "I'm doing exactly what I told you I would do." He turned his attention away from her and toward whoever was on the other line. "Hey, it's me. You still got eyes on the other guy? Yeah. Yeah, she decided to snake Leslie's phone and get a call out."

He remained silent for a minute and Ziva strained to hear whoever was on the other line.

"Will you calm the hell down? I don't know who she talked to!" he yelled, but turned to face her. "But I have a pretty damn good idea, which is where you come in." Another pause. "Yes, that means I'm giving you permission, damn it. Hold on, let me put you on speaker." He pressed a few buttons and held the phone out for Ziva to examine.

"Okay," he said. "Hit it."

Ziva was about to question him further before three sharp reports rang out from the phone's speaker. Her eyes widened in shock and she felt every breath of air she'd been holding rush out of her in one violent wave that left her stranded and weak. She might not have known who was on the other line but if there was one thing she knew for sure, the sound that echoed around the room came from the barrel of an M-16.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tony pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen with abject terror that kept him frozen for a few seconds. The words "Call Ended" mocked him in blinking letters and the phone dropped from his hand to land with a _thud _on the floor below his feet. He almost tripped over it as he jumped up from the couch to run down the hall and into the bathroom. He fell, shaking, to his knees and was forced to empty the contents of his stomach.

He brushed his teeth and washed his face in a daze before the magnitude of what had just happened finally hit him. Fighting his way through the fog vodka still held onto him, he ran back into the living room to find his phone lying on the floor. He took a few bare seconds to notice the massive puddle of liquor on the floor, but then let his mind carry him elsewhere. The first number he dialed was Gibbs', and he groaned in frustration when his call was promptly ignored. The second number was McGee's and he sighed in relief when he heard the man's voice.

"McGee."

"Probie," Tony said excitedly. "I need you to come get me."

"I can't," McGee replied. "Gibbs told me not to."

"What?"

"You're on orders to stay home," he said. "I don't know what you did, but Gibbs is seriously unhappy."

"Yeah, I'm aware of that," he said sourly, gently slurring the words. "Just come get me and I'll explain to you on the way."

He paused. "Are you drunk?" McGee asked and went on without waiting for a reply. "Jesus, Tony. I'm not coming to get you. You're drunk. Go to sleep."

"Ziva called me," Tony said angrily and heard complete silence on the other end of the line. "Think you can make time for me now? Or are you going to sit around with your thumb up your ass and wait for permission to save Ziva's life?"

His words had the desired effect. "Give me twenty minutes."

Tony closed the phone to wait for McGee and ended up opening it again to try to call the number Ziva called from. He wasn't exactly surprised when it went to an automated voicemail box with a number and no name. He had a name, though, he thought with a jolt. Leslie and Kenny. Kenny didn't mean anything to him, but he knew the blonde Ziva had worked with was named Leslie. Kenny must be an accomplice, he thought idly. If McGee would hurry the hell up, he could find out for sure.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ziva stared, open-mouthed, at the sick smile on Kenny's face. He tucked the phone away in a pocket and looked back at her, daring her to speak. He shouldn't have worried—she was currently incapable of coherent thought, much less speech. She barely felt her back as it leaned against the cold stone and was hardly aware of her body sliding down to the floor. Suddenly hollow, she pulled her knees to her chest and looked up at Kenny with damp eyes, saying nothing.

"I have to say, I expected something a little more dramatic," he said, turning away from her to head back up the stairs. "But of course you realize the kinds of problems this presents. I have a few things to take care of tonight, but we'll be back to see you later. You're Jewish, right?"

Ziva nodded, numb to his peculiar line of questioning.

"Okay. We'll make sure you get put in the ground before three days is up," he said and slammed the door behind him. She heard the locks click into place. The empty sound echoed in the room but didn't seem to reach her reeling mind. She felt the hot tears trailing down her cheeks and didn't so much as consider wiping them away.

Why bother?

Tony was dead.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tony was going to puke.

His head spun and his stomach turned violent cartwheels within him, both results of McGee's newly-discovered penchant for stunt driving. He appreciated the fact that they were pressed for time, but he didn't think he could survive another near-collision. Hands gripping the handles of the door for dear life, he looked over at McGee in the driver's seat.

"Probie, calm down," Tony warned. "Or you're going to have to explain to Gibbs why the car needs new upholstery."

"No time, Tony," McGee answered, swerving around an incredibly agitated pedestrian. "I need to get a trace going on the number Ziva called you from. If we're lucky, the account will have a name and an address."

"Ziva gave me two names," Tony said, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping that would lessen the crippling nausea. "Leslie and Kenny."

"Leslie?" McGee asked. "Like the other bartender?"

"I think so."

"Then who's Kenny?" he wondered aloud. "Did we have a suspect by that name?"

"Not to my knowledge," Tony replied. He watched the Navy yard come into view. "Oh, thank God."

Tony watched as the world swam into place as McGee parked the car. He gave himself a moment to lean against the car and get his legs back under him, concentrating on his carefully measured breath rather than the horrible upset in his stomach. McGee had already marched off, toward the elevator that would lead them up to the bullpen. Deciding already that he might live to regret it, he pulled himself upright and took off after him.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

It was the first thing Tony heard upon exiting the elevator.

"Boss, I--" McGee started before Tony cut in.

"I talked to Ziva, boss," Tony said, stepping in front of McGee. "She called me."

Gibbs eyed him, saw his bloodshot eyes and stepped just close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath. He also saw the truth of everything Tony wasn't saying aloud; the pain was etched across the man's face as plain as day. Something told him not much else could achieve the same result.

"Well?" he asked pointedly.

Tony blinked. "Well, what?"

Gibbs' hand connected roughly with the back of Tony's head, resulting in a violent sway that sent him stumbling forward a few feet. He caught himself before he fell to the ground and stood up quickly to find Gibbs fixing him with a stare that was far less than gracious. Tony grimaced but said nothing that would further incriminate him, instead looking to McGee for assistance.

"I'm taking Tony's phone and running a trace," McGee jumped in. "Ziva gave us two names. One, I think, is the other bartender Ziva worked with. Leslie something or other."

"Price," Abby said, fluttering in from out of Tony's peripheral vision. "Her name is Leslie Price. I got her name off the phone number that called Tony."

"Address?" Gibbs asked abruptly.

"392 Maplewood," Abby replied. "It's about five miles away from the bar."

"Makes sense," Tony said, nodding. He remembered her voice through the static. "Ziva said something about wood."

"McGee, you're with me," Gibbs said, tucking his cell phone away and heading toward the elevator. He saw Tony move to follow him and he stopped, letting McGee pass him and Tony almost run right into him. The man's depth perception still wasn't the best it could have been.

"Where do you think you're going, DiNozzo?" he asked.

Tony didn't falter for a second. "With you."

Gibbs chuckled before turning away. "I don't think so."

"I do," Tony said, falling into step behind him. For once, pissing Gibbs off wasn't on top of his list of worries. "I'm not sitting here, useless, while Ziva's God knows where."

"I don't need a drunk on my hands or in my way," Gibbs said bluntly as they walked. "I want you to stay here. We'll be back with Ziva. Keep working on the trace McGee started."

"You can't expect me to stay here," Tony said, adamant, from just outside the elevator doors. He wouldn't just stand back and let them take over, when she was _his… _his what, exactly? The thought stalled him long enough for Gibbs to take the upper hand.

"I can, DiNozzo," Gibbs said forcefully, "And I do. Stay here. That's an order."

The elevator doors closed in his face and Tony stepped back, knowing he'd been banished from the investigation even further. He could only hope that the next time the elevator doors opened, Ziva would be walking out with them.


	16. Devolution

**Author's Note:**

**Here it is… the next chapter. From here on in, it's going to a lot of drama. Not that it's a bad thing, I guess. I'm afraid I just can't get enough of messing with these characters.**

**Anyway, here it is. Sorry for the wait.**

**Chapter Thirteen**

"**Devolution"**

"Here, lay down," Abby instructed bossily, pointing to a cot in the corner of her lab. "I've already sent Ducky to get you some coffee."

"I'm fine, Abby," Tony grumbled, sitting down anyway. He begrudgingly took the lumpy pillow she offered him and set it aside, making no plans to use it later. He was sobering up faster than usual, and he was bound and determined to meet Gibbs and McGee later.

"Is it true?" Abby asked him. "What McGee said?"

"I don't know," he evaded. "What did McGee say?"

"That you talked to Ziva," she said and Tony didn't miss the hope running rampantly through every word. He wished he could feel the same way, but one sharp blast from an hour before kept him firmly anchored to the ground.

"Yeah," he said finally, letting his eyes fall to the floor. "Yeah, I talked to her."

"Well?" Abby asked, sitting next to him on the impossibly small cot. "How did she sound?"

"She was crying," he said, more convinced now than he had been earlier. He watched Abby's face fall. "But she was whispering. I could have been wrong."

"Well, McGee and Gibbs are going to find her," she said adamantly. "Then they're going to bring her back here and everything's going to be back to normal."

"Of course it is, Abs," Tony said, wringing his hands to take his mind off the ringing in his ears.

She studied him for a moment, and saw his hesitation. "What aren't you telling us?" she asked. "Why aren't you happier that we know who has her?"

"What?" he asked, feigning ignorance. "Of course I'm happy! Who said I wasn't happy?"

"You're not happy, Tony," she said, patting his knee. "Don't play dumb with me."

"But it's my best role," he joked, though the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Please," she said earnestly. "Please tell me what you know."

He stared down at her and felt his heart give way. "You should be an interrogator," he said. "That look will get you anything you want to know."

She gave him a small smile but said nothing, waiting for him to tell her what he had to say.

"She gave me the names and she said something about wood," he started.

"Like Leslie's address?"

"I guess," he said. "Then she said something about watching me and being careful. I don't know who's watching me or what I should be careful about, but there it is."

"What else?"

He studied her and knew instinctively that she wasn't going believe that was all he had to say.

"You don't want to know this, Abby."

She nodded rigorously. "Yes, I do."

"No, Abby," he said, turning to grab her shoulders. "Please don't make me tell you."

"I can't handle not knowing," she pleaded. "But you can't handle knowing. What aren't you telling us? Why wouldn't you tell Gibbs?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I didn't want to think about it." He let his hands fall from her and he focused intently on her eyes. "I heard a gunshot, Abs."

She blinked. "What?"

"I heard a gunshot, and then the line went dead," he said, his voice breaking just near the end of his statement. He watched as her eyes flew through the various stages of shock and denial until tears began to well up. Knowing the action was as much for him as it was for her, he took her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung for dear life, waiting for the worse of the news to come crashing down on them.

"I can't believe it, Tony," she said. "I just can't. Ziva can't die."

"Be brave, Abs," he found himself saying. "She could have been shooting at someone else. If you think about it, it's probably more likely. You know how much Ziva likes shooting at people."

Abby couldn't bring herself to laugh, though she appreciated the gesture of the joke. She leaned back from him to wipe the tears and black smears of mascara away from her eyes, giving him a watery smile. He returned it and let her have her silence; he didn't mind stepping back for a little while. Abby would come back when she needed him, and he would be there when she did.

"I'm going to go narrow down the matches off the print smudges I got," she said, standing up. "Maybe there's a Kenny or a Kenneth in the hundreds and hundreds of matches I got back."

"Can I help?"

Abby shook her head. "No. There's nothing you can do."

Tony winced at the phrasing, but nodded his head. "Let me know if you need me."

"You can sleep it off," Abby said, referring to the pungent smell of alcohol still on his breath. "I'll wake you up if I hear something."

Tony nodded and watched her walk away, an incredibly determined expression on her pretty face. Abigail Sciuto had nerves of steel when she felt like it; apparently today she felt like it. The glass door closed behind her and he watched her instantly pounce on the keyboard of her computer. Her fingers worked like lightning over the keys and Tony turned away from her, deciding the rapid movements would make him nauseous. He had barely let his head touch the cot before he heard the slide of the glass doors once again.

"I heard a rumor that a certain agent was in dire need of coffee," he heard a slight Scottish accent say from a few feet away.

"I assume you're talking about me," he said, staring at the ceiling. "You can leave it on the table, Duck. I'll get it later."

The medical examiner frowned but did as he was told, sitting the coffee cup down on a table a few feet away. He watched Tony silently for a moment, noting the fine lines fanning from his eyes and the tell-tale flush of his cheeks. So the rumors were true, he thought to himself. Tony was drinking again. Scowling further, he walked over to stand just beside the younger man.

"Not that I object to your getting rest," he started, "But I thought I would offer you a willing ear if you decided you needed it."

Tony scoffed. "No offense, Duck, but I don't think I can take another heart-to-heart right now. I've had enough in the last few days to last a lifetime."

"And I don't suppose you needed any of them?" Ducky asked pointedly.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm fine."

"No one expects you to be fine, Anthony," he said earnestly. "With everything that has been happening to you—to all of us, for that matter—in the last few days, fine is the very last thing you should be feeling."

"What should I be feeling, then?" Tony asked sarcastically, knowing already he was taking everything out on the first available target. Poor Ducky. "What's appropriate? Frustration's a big one at the moment… and of course, there's fear. Fear is always good, right?"

Ducky nodded, accepting the man's aggression in stride. "Both of those emotions are completely understandable under the circumstances."

"What about guilt?" he asked, sitting up to look at Ducky. The sarcasm had disappeared from his voice. "Is guilt normal, too?"

Ducky's mind worked at lightning speed to come up with the words most befitting the conversation and Tony's state of mind before he spoke.

"It's not completely out of context," Ducky allowed. "But why would you feel guilty, dear boy? Nothing that's happening is your fault."

"If only it was that easy," he said honestly. Before he realized he was going to confess, the words had flown out of his mouth.

"We fought."

"What?"

"The night she disappeared," he said softly. "We fought, and she walked out. That was the last time I saw her."

He nodded knowingly. "I see. What was the argument over?" Ducky asked, taking a seat next to him on the impossibly small cot.

"Nothing at first," he recalled. "But it turned into something a lot bigger. I said things, Duck. Things I had no reason to say to my partner… to my best friend."

"I must admit, I'm surprised to find you in one piece if it was our Mossad operative you decided to pick a fight with," Ducky said, allowing a hint of amusement to flow into his voice. "Normally Ziva's temper leaves a path of wreckage in its wake."

Tony gave a wry laugh. "I wish. Maybe then I wouldn't hate myself so much. Anger I could have handled." He paused, remembering the broken look on her face. "Not... that. She just walked out. She said goodbye, and she walked out."

"You will get the chance to apologize," Ducky said.

"That's not the point," Tony said adamantly. "I hurt her. Purposefully."

Ducky paused. "It's time you stop accepting the blame for everything, Anthony," he instructed. "It's incredibly narcissistic of you."

Tony scoffed. "How is guilt narcissistic?"

"You're making Ziva's predicament about you," Ducky said and noted the mild shock on Tony's face. "Don't get me wrong, dear boy; I know that finding her is your top priority. But tell me, how is your inner turmoil helping you find her?"

"Ouch, Duck."

"I'm not saying this to upset you," he said truthfully. "I'm saying it because it is exactly what Ziva would be telling you, if she were beside you instead of me."

"Probably," Tony said. "She doesn't really handle my self-pitying very well."

"As well she shouldn't," he replied. "Neither will any of the rest of us, if it comes to that."

Tony paused. "What do you mean?"

Ducky stayed silent once again, searching for the right words. In the end, it was the plain truth that came out of his mouth.

"This drinking problem you seem to have acquired needs to be addressed. Furthermore, it needs to stop," he warned. "It is crippling you emotionally, I believe. Not to mention the decidedly negative effects on your body."

"Ducky, I don't--"

"Have a drinking problem? Yes, I know," Ducky said sarcastically. "Of course it's normal to get completely intoxicated in the middle of the day."

Tony said nothing.

"I want you to think about seeking help, Tony. When all this is over," Ducky said solemnly. "None of us want to see you hurt yourself. We all care about you very much."

"I know, Duck," he said, nodding. "Believe me, I know."

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"There it is," McGee said, pointing to a small white house in a nondescript suburban neighborhood just outside D.C. "392 Maplewood."

Gibbs nodded silently and pulled up to the curb in front of the house, noting that there was a black Honda still parked in the driveway. The flowers in the front garden seemed to be suffering from a little neglect and the lawn needed mowing, but other than that it was just like every other house on the block. Nothing about the house seemed to scream that kidnappers or murderers lived there, but in Gibbs' experience they rarely did. He decided a long time ago that a white picket fence did a lot to hide what was going on behind it.

They climbed out of the car with incredibly heavy minds, each of them wondering what would be on the other side of the door when they opened it. McGee followed Gibbs through the front gate and up the porch stairs, handing resting uneasily on the weapon at his hip; he was never comfortable having to use it, and didn't think he should be. He was incredibly torn on what he wanted to happen in the next five minutes. The adrenaline made him anxious and more than a little jumpy, which he tried to hide by clenching and unclenching his fists beside him as he walked directly behind Gibbs.

Rather than immediately giving in to the uneasy feeling in his gut, Gibbs strode purposefully to the front door and brought a fist up to knock. Three sharp taps were punctuated by the sound of his voice.

"NCIS! Open up!"

No one answered or came to the door, and Gibbs' sensitive ears told him there wasn't any movement going on inside, either. He knocked again, for procedure's sake, but quickly motioned for McGee to hand in the lock pick set the agent kept with him--you know, just in case. McGee handed the small tools over to him and watched him open the lock just shy of fifteen seconds later. They pushed the door open and Gibbs looked back.

"They really shouldn't leave doors open like this," he said with the ghost of a smile.

"Anyone could just walk in," McGee agreed. "Lucky for them, we got here first."

Gibbs walked in the house first, followed quickly by McGee. Each of them called out but received no reply, moving slowly throughout the small house only to find it deserted. Gibbs looked around and knew almost instantly that Ziva hadn't been there; his gut had yet to lead him astray. In case, for some ungodly reason he was wrong, he kept on his guard. Ziva would be sure to leave them some kind of sign that they were in the right place.

"Clear," McGee said from the living room. He watched Gibbs move down the hallway to check the bedrooms and McGee opted to continue to the opposite side of the house. "Still clear," he said before walking into the dining room. He looked down, though, and his eyes instantly flew to the centerpiece.

"Boss, I've got something," he called out, pulling latex gloves from his pocket.

"What is it?" Gibbs asked, walking in the entryway behind him. His eyes fell on the unholy mess all over the dining room table. "I don't think we have to worry about who our dealers are."

"Decidedly not," McGee said, his eyes traveling over the white powder scattered across the large wooden table. "Careful not to inhale, boss."

"You think?" he asked sarcastically but paid close attention to his breaths nonetheless. "You see that?"

"A hand print," McGee said, staring at the indentation in the mounds of what he assumed to be a massive spattering of cocaine. "It looks small. You don't think--"

"No," Gibbs said, silencing McGee's thought before he had the chance to say it aloud. "Ziva's not here." His eyes followed a track of powder from the table, across, the floor, and through the door on the opposite side of them. "I have an idea who is, though."

Instead of asking an annoying question that wouldn't get them any closer to the answer, McGee looked on as Gibbs moved to follow the trail leading out of the living room. Gibbs went slowly, uncharacteristically hoping that it wasn't Ziva he found behind the swinging white door. Somehow disembodied, he watched his own arm stretch out in front of him to rest on the edge of the door. He applied pressure and was surprised at how easily the door swung open. His eyes rested at the deathly-pale face on the tile floor, shrouded in dark brown hair. He swallowed, relieved.

It wasn't Ziva.

"Who is that?" McGee asked to no one in particular, staring at the man lying in a pool of his own vomit. White powder generously covered his face and torso, starkly contrasting the bloodshot red of his eyes.

Gibbs reached for the wallet bulging from the man's pocket, pulling out the driver's license from the inside flap.

"Jackson, Kenneth Ryan," Gibbs read. "Our 'Kenny', I presume."

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Tony opened his tired eyes at the sound of Abby's squealing the next room. Instantly alert and a little unhappily sober, he leapt off the small cot and ran into the larger part of Abby's lab to find her shooting her fingers rapidly over her keyboard.

"What is it?" Tony asked, coming to stand next to her. He didn't understand a thing from the flurry of pictures occupying the computer screen.

"Gibbs and McGee found Kenny," she said. "Dead. In the house on Maplewood."

Tony swallowed hard. "Ziva?"

"Not there," she answered quickly. "But I think I caught a break."

"Tell me."

"Didn't Ziva say something about the woods?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the screens in front of her.

"Yeah," Tony replied. "It was garbled, so I might have been wrong. I thought it was the address."

"It is. In a way," she corrected. "Four years ago, Leslie Price inherited a log cabin from her paternal grandfather."

"Cabin?" Tony asked before the meaning sunk in. "Cabin, like the woods?"

"I think so," she said, clicking a few times on the mouse and turning away from the computers. She pulled a piece of paper from the printer and handed it to Tony. "Here—directions to the cabin. It's about an hour and a half outside of D.C."

Tony took the paper and gave Abby a kiss on the cheek.

"You're the best, Abs," he said, walking from the room. He called to her from over his shoulder. "Call Gibbs and tell him to meet me."

"Aye, aye," she said, watching him run to the elevator.

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Leslie gasped and cried as she drove down the freeway.

She'd washed her hands, right? She couldn't inhale, or she would have been dead already. She had to wash her hands as soon as she got the chance. She could get caught if they saw her hands were dirty; if they weren't clean. Wash. That was what she needed to do. She had to... the white was still on them. Wasn't it? Or was it the red? Red like blood. Red like Kenny's eyes while he'd suffocated in a cocktail of cocaine and cyanide. But then again, white. White like his skin while he puked and went into seizures. White like the tile floor he'd died on... white like her hands.

Breathe, Leslie. Breathe. She coached herself as the speedometer reached ninety. Luckily for her, the sun was setting and everyone else was just as anxious to get where they were going.

Where was she going?

Home?

No. Home was a million miles away. Home was where she killed him... _killed_ the man she'd spent the last few years of her life with. She hardly remembered cutting open the bag of drugs and letting it pour onto the beautiful dining room table her grandmother had given her five years before. It felt like a blur in the back of her brain when she remembered pressing Kenny's face into it, listening to him cough and choke on the powder that was going to kill him in less than two minutes.

She'd watched him stumble into the kitchen, following closely as he collapsed. It was a rush she would remember forever. It was even better than the damn soldier the other night, she thought and laughed out loud into the empty car. God, she'd thought that was something. It was _less _than nothing compared to watching Kenny struggle under her hand and flail on the kitchen floor. That... was poetry. It was a work of art.

Maybe she'd do it again, she thought, taking the exit that would lead her that decrepit old shack in the middle of nowhere. Why not? She had a cop to get rid of anyway. If she hadn't already eaten what Kenny left her that afternoon, she'd just have to be force-fed.

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She'd loved him. Ziva knew it was the truth, and didn't dare try to talk herself out of the feeling that had been torturing her. The pain was too sweet to give up.

She'd loved Tony more than anyone else in the world, and he was gone. No… not just gone. Taken from her. With three quick blasts, her life had been clawed violently to pieces. Was Gibbs with him? Abby, or McGee? The thought of him dying alone somewhere made her sick. Her tears had dried up two hours before… she didn't think she had any left. Her dinner sat, untouched, at the top of the stairs. She hadn't moved from the back wall she'd slid down while the world fell at her feet. She'd cried until she couldn't breathe and the muscles of her stomach had cramped even more, and then she'd discovered that she couldn't wait around forever to be next.

Her grief suffocated her, but anger fueled her on like it never had before. Regret was there, of course. Part of her wanted to blame herself, but her self-pity could wait. The fact of the matter was that three people had kidnapped her and had killed the man she loved. On top of all that, she had a sneaking suspicion that the sudden illness she'd been experiencing wasn't entirely coincidence. A feeling deep in her gut told her that the plate at the top of the stairs was spiked with enough cyanide to end her completely. The thought that they were presumptuous enough to kill her pissed her off even more. All melodrama aside, she wasn't planning on standing for it. They'd get what was coming to them.

If it was the last fucking thing she did on this earth, she was going to kill her way out of there.


	17. The Irony of Fate

**Author's Note:**

**Hello everyone! I hope you all had wonderful Thanksgivings. (For those of you that celebrate it.) I did so enjoy coming back to all your marvelous reviews! **

**My family was crazy, but whose isn't, really? In all my spare time, I managed to finish the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy!**

**Chapter Seventeen**

"**The Irony of Fate"**

Leslie walked into the front door of the cabin and heard complete silence. Part of her wondered if the cop had already managed to off herself, or if she'd saved Leslie the pleasure. She dearly hoped she had.

She tucked a large bag full of cocaine cut with cyanide into the pocket of her bulky jacket—Kenny's jacket, she corrected with a giddy laugh—and walked into kitchen, heading straight for the drawer where Kenny kept all the cutlery. She opened the drawer and pulled out the biggest knife she got her hands on first, hoping it would be enough to intimidate the cop into doing what she wanted. If all else failed, it would subdue her long enough for her to force her magic white powder up her nostrils and into the blood stream, which was really all she wanted to do anyway. If she had to cut her a few times, then so be it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ziva perched herself just outside the door, listening to the footsteps and erratic laughter erupting just outside the door. She fine-tuned her ears to pick up the sound of a drawer opening in the kitchen and the rattle of the silverware within. More laughter sounded from upstairs and though Ziva was disappointed not to hear Kenny's voice, she had no problems believing that he was the next on her list. After extensive torture that he had no chance of surviving, she would get the name of the voice on the other end of the phone. Then whoever that turned out to be would be getting the worst of all three of them; since, of course, he was the one that pulled the trigger.

Footsteps just outside of the door brought her out of her reverie and had every reflex in her body on alert, waiting for the slightest sound or movement to give her a cue. She heard fidgeting just outside the door and she heard Leslie clear her throat before the first of the locks disengaged. Ziva stilled herself to wait for the other four, discouraged when they didn't immediately slide into place. The next three took a little while but were shakily moved, telling Ziva that Leslie was having a serious show of nerves. Luckily for Ziva, anxiety was one thing she didn't have.

Ziva stepped back from the door as the fourth lock disengaged itself, putting herself into position as she heard Leslie's hand touch the ancient doorknob. Before Leslie could turn it completely, Ziva brought her leg back and kicked the door hard enough to send the other woman flying a few feet back from her. She watched with some amusement as the other woman stumbled and brandished a long blade.

"You must be joking," Ziva seethed. "You cannot possibly believe a little pig sticker is going to stop me from tearing you limb from limb."

Leslie stifled a laugh that sounded more like a cackle. Kenny's dead face floated into her mind.

"Don't play your little mind games with me, bitch. It's over for you. Both of you."

Ziva's jaw clenched and she popped her knuckles. "And believe me, you are all going to pay for that."

Leslie barely had time to blink before a fist cracked against the hard bone of her jaw. She stumbled backward until she hit a wall, but held the knife even tighter against her palm. She wasn't delusional enough to believe she had a chance without it. She made no moves as the woman plowed another fist into her stomach, not fighting as all the air rushed painfully out of her lungs. The knife, however, remained clutched like the lifeline she knew it was. Before Ziva could land another punch, Leslie's hand shot out to leave a long gash just below her left shoulder.

The wound had the desired effect; Ziva paused to admire the blood seeping from the wound for just long enough for Leslie to strike again. This time, however, Ziva anticipated the attack and kicked her back against the wall. Leslie didn't miss the wince on her face, however, and took quite a bit of joy from the simple fact that she'd managed to hurt her. Before she realized what she was doing Leslie laughed dementedly and swung at her again; this time not even coming close to Ziva, who stared at her with an open fascination that only momentarily belied the rage.

"You are only making things harder on yourself," Ziva warned. "If you keep that up, I will be forced to take my time killing you."

Instead of answering, Leslie spat and Ziva moved out of the way.

"I see," Ziva said, eyeing her. "Have it your way, then. I must admit I will not regret hurting you."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tony's speedometer was quickly approaching the hundreds, though the siren flashing on top of the car made him immune from any police interference he might have run into otherwise. He spent the better half of an hour on the freeway, weaving his way recklessly through traffic to a symphony of angry car horns. Although the exit he desired was coming up a lot faster than he expected, part of him wasn't ready for what might be on the other end of the road. He was surprised, but comforted, to see Gibbs' blue Charger come up behind him on the exit ramp. He should have known to expect company, even if he didn't invite them himself.

Some dusty road stretched out in front of him for what seems like miles on end while Gibbs tailed him. The radio had been turned off long before; he preferred the ramblings of his own panic rather than the idle chit-chat some disc jockey would have thrown at him. In some ways he was grateful for the solitude—it was giving him time to deal with every possible scenario waiting for him at the end of the road. In other ways he would have killed to have Gibbs riding shotgun, saving him from himself. Hell, even listening to McGee stumbling through a conversation would have been better than the horrible pictures flashing through his mind.

Before he was ready for it, a small cabin came dimly into sight. His chest constricted as he whipped his car into the dusty driveway, barely taking time to kill the engine before he dove out of the driver's seat to meet Gibbs and McGee beside their car. Tony reached instinctively for the weapon he'd been concealing at his hip and instantly flicked the safety off, determined to use it if anyone gave him the opportunity. Abby told him already that Kenny had been found dead, so he had no doubt in his mind that the other car parked on the other side of the cabin was Leslie's, and that she was inside gunning for Ziva.

"Let's go," Tony ordered, waiting for them to fall in behind him. When he didn't hear footsteps, he turned. "Come on, let's go."

"We can't just go break down the front door," McGee said, adjusting the cap on top of his head. "We need to find out who's in there first."

"We'll find out later," he replied heatedly. "Or do you feel like swimming through corpses?"

"Move it, you two," Gibbs said, cutting though both of them to head in the direction of the cabin. McGee had just barely opened his mouth to retort before a scream cut into the air around him. It echoed into the wilderness and sent a few random birds flying from their nests. Gibbs clenched his jaw and moved hurriedly in front of the door.

Tony hesitated for barely moment before sprinting up the steps.

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Ziva twisted the blonde wad of hair in her hand and listened to the agonized wail that erupted from Leslie's throat. Ziva was sweaty and bloody; she hadn't been able to deflect all of Leslie's blows. Despite the anger readily bubbling, her weakness was beginning to close in on her. The trace amounts of cyanide she'd been consuming finally seemed to be having their most detrimental effect on her. It was going to be a little while, though, before she allowed herself to rest. She held the knife a little closer to the woman's neck, drawing a thin line of blood from the pale flesh.

"Now, I will ask again," Ziva said slowly, punctuating her words with the turn of her wrist. "Tell me who your partner is."

"I don't have a partner," Leslie cried. "I swear!"

"Then who was the man on the phone?" Ziva asked. "Who was the man who killed Tony?"

"Nobody," she said earnestly while tears flowed freely down her face. "It was an act. Kenny recorded the gunshots on his phone to trick you. It wasn't anybody; please… you have to believe me."

"What do you take me for?" Ziva laughed. "I am no fool. Tell me who he is, or I will make this last as long as I possibly can." She pressed the knife harder against her throat. "If you give me a name, I will make it quick. You will not feel a thing."

"No," Leslie said, sobbing. "Please, no."

"I am taking that to mean you will not be cooperating," she said, oblivious to the sudden clouds of dust coming up just outside the window. "That is too bad."

Leslie's eyes caught the sound of tires in the driveway. Listening carefully, she then made out the sound of car doors being slammed. Figuring that the cops had put two and two together, she knew they were outside. For the first time she started having second thoughts about offing Kenny; one of his goddamn showdowns would have made a nice diversion while she snuck out the back. Instead, she was left to her own devices. Her own devices happened to include a monster set of lungs. She screamed loud enough for them to hear her outside, and had the added side effect of Ziva jumping back for a split second. It didn't last, though. Within half a heartbeat Ziva had a bigger handful of her hair and was twisting it harder than she had been.

"Oh, I am sorry, Leslie," she said. "Unfortunately for you, this cabin is incredibly remote. No one will hear you."

Ziva pulled Leslie's head back with a jerk and further brandished the knife despite Leslie's squirming against her. The struggle earned her a few extra cuts before she heard the footsteps on the porch and finally paused in her torture long enough to consider the fact that she might be getting to the end of her list sooner than she thought. She didn't as much as flinch when the door was kicked open, but she did stop completely when she saw the faces that came through it. She saw Gibbs first, then McGee, and then the roaring in her ears drowned out the sound of everything else in the world. Her eyes widened and her knees went a little weak. It wasn't possible.

"Oh, my God," Ziva whispered, loosening the hand she had wrapped in Leslie's hair. "It is really you."

Tony blinked, almost completely floored by his relief at finding her alive.

"Yeah, it's me," he said, offering a hand for her to take. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Ziva could have cried with the relief, but Leslie felt the sudden change in her would-be killer and saw fit to lunge out of her grasp. While Ziva remained frozen temporarily in shock, Leslie pulled away from her and stole the knife she held loosely in her hand. Before anyone thought to restrain her, she clutched the handle of the knife in her sweat-slicked hands and rammed it through the navy blue fabric of Ziva's shirt. The knife rested just above the waistband of her jeans, but came away with Leslie's hands. The blood quickly followed.

She looked up through blinding-white pain to see Leslie's sick smile. The more instinctual part of her cried to lash out; to draw blood in return for her own blood that had spilled out onto her hands. There was another part, though, that wanted to just lie down and sleep. Apparently her tired half was winning; after what was only a few moments her knees buckled and sent her falling heavily to the floor. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she registered the sound of a gunshot. She saw Leslie fall to the ground beside her, and then the next thing she felt was Tony's arms around her.

Tony should have yelled, said something, to warn Ziva what was coming but he couldn't find the words. He felt his heart lurch in his chest when Leslie tore free, but nothing came out of his mouth but a strangled cry when a decent seven inches of stainless steel disappeared into her stomach. While Tony was still frozen in place, Gibbs put a bullet in Leslie's shoulder. The bitch was laughing like a hyena even when she hit the floor. McGee and Gibbs went instantly to Leslie with their handcuffs while Tony finally found the strength to move. He dove to the floor beside Ziva and gathered her into his arms, pressing his hands against the wound in her lower abdomen.

"Ziva, hang on, okay?" he pleaded, applying pressure to the wound he knew was bleeding too fast. "Just listen to the sound of my voice."

"I let her get the drip on me," Ziva hissed, trying to writhe away from the pain invading her body.

Tony heard himself laugh harshly, and knew it was only there to mask the sob that was working its way up his throat.

"Drop, Zee-vah," he said and wished he really could take the time to laugh at her linguistic mistake.

"Mmm," she moaned and brought her hand up to cup his cheek. Her distress had lessened a fraction; either the pain was lessening, or she was losing more blood than her body could replace. "You are alive."

Tony blinked and tried to ignore the blood on her fingertips.

"Of course I am," he said, looking up briefly to watch Gibbs bark orders for two ambulances. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Man on the phone," she mumbled. "The rifle."

He saw her eyes roll back and he shook her gently.

"Hey, come on," he said, fighting to keep his voice even. Inside he was screaming. "None of that. What about the man on the phone?"

Her eyes didn't open, but he was relieved that she answered. "… he killed you. I stole the phone."

"You're not making any sense, Zee," he said, putting a little more pressure into his hands as he pulled her tighter against him.

"I did not want to go," Ziva cried, writing against him. "I swear I did not want to go."

"Ssh, I know," he said, fearing her flailing would tear the wound even more. He was vaguely aware of Gibbs and McGee standing on either side of him. "I know you didn't want to."

"Had to," she said, gripping the front of his shirt while another wave of pain washed over her. "Or they would have killed you."

Tony's shoulders sagged under the weight of her words, but he refused to worry over them while he had something far more important demanding his attention. Ziva's skin was turning a sickly pale color and her grip on his shirt was getting weaker and weaker.

"It's okay now," he murmured into her hair, his voice shaking. "You're okay. We're here."

Ziva said something in Hebrew and her hand fell, limp, on top of her.

"Ziva?" His voice shook. "Ziva?"

_Jesus, _he thought. _Please don't do this to me. Please don't leave me. You're stronger than this. Please, Ziva… please don't._

"Pulse is weak, but it's there," McGee said, pressing two of his fingers to Ziva's neck. Tony felt hot tears sting the backs of his eyelids.

"She's shaking," Tony said, feeling her slight tremors in his arms.

"She's going into shock," Gibbs replied, reaching for a blanket that was slung across the back of a couch a few feet away. "Here, keep her warm."

"Come on, Ziva," Tony said to her limp figure as he wrapped the blanket around her. "Almost there. We just need you to hang on a little bit longer."


	18. Living on a Prayer

**Author's Note:**

**Wow! The response on that last chapter was absolutely amazing. Thank you all so much for taking the time to review! So, in reward, this chapter is going up a little faster... mainly because, as the result of a review high, I wrote it faster. I hope you all enjoy it!**

**Chapter Eighteen**

"**Living on a Prayer"**

The ambulance took what felt like twenty years from him. He rode with Ziva the whole way, knowing Gibbs and McGee were following in the cars they'd left in front of the cabin. Tony held Ziva's hand while they hooked her to an IV and a million wires; it all looked so foreign on the body belonging to the toughest woman he'd ever known or ever would know. He watched distractedly as the paramedics worked, completely unaware of what was actually going on. Words flew around him in clusters but he'd stopped straining to understand what they meant; all he knew was that Ziva had yet to open her eyes again.

When the time came, the ambulance doors opened to let them out at the entrance to the emergency room. Tony kept his hands locked fiercely on the rails of the gurney as they rushed through the sliding glass doors, determined to stay with her. Before a second set of doors opened to them, a man in white scrubs pulled away from the group and pushed Tony back; away from Ziva. He stared past the man, watching Ziva being pushed down the hallway and disappearing from sight.

"Sir, you can't go in there," he said kindly but with enough force to tell Tony he wasn't going to budge. "What's your name? I'll have the doctor ask for you."

"DiNozzo," he said absently. "Tony DiNozzo."

Tony heard rapid footsteps approaching behind him and soon Gibbs and McGee were standing beside him.

"Where are they taking her?" he heard himself ask through the haze of confusion and outright terror.

"She's being prepped for surgery," the man replied. "I'll take you to the OR waiting room. A doctor should be out soon to tell you her condition."

Tony didn't answer but thought he heard McGee say something to his right. It must have been some kind of assent, because the nurse nodded and suddenly they were moving down a separate hallway to their right. He felt Gibbs' grasp his elbow, guiding him along. Just before they got to the waiting room, Gibbs pulled him aside. Tony took a long, shuddering breath and turned to face him. His eyes met Gibbs' pale blue ones and found compassion where there was usually annoyance. As much as he would have liked to enjoy that, he found that a sympathetic Gibbs was more worrisome than an angry one.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, boss?"

"You need to go wash up," Gibbs said quietly.

"What?"

"Just go," he pressed, his eyes moving to Tony's midriff. Tony's eyes followed, landing eventually on the sickening red stain that marred the front of his otherwise white shirt.

"Oh, God," he said, eyeing the blood that had dried and crusted on his hands and arms. A wave of nausea hit him hard enough to knock him back a few steps, but Gibbs was there to lend a strong arm.

"Go," he said again. "McGee will bring you a clean shirt."

Tony's eyes remained fixed on his hands.

"Ziva?" It was the only thing on his mind.

"We'll come get you if we hear anything," he assured. "Take a little bit of time." He paused. "That's an order."

Tony nodded absently. "Yeah, boss."

He walked on a ghost's legs down another barren hallway identical to every other in the building. Flowers and balloons decorated some rooms; others were occupied by machines and wires. The men's room was at the very end of the hall, away from the rooms where people were actually kept. He checked the stalls and, finding them all empty, locked himself in the bathroom only to tear the shirt away from his body. He threw the offending fabric across the room, desperate to have it as far from him as possible.

Next was the scalding water he used to purge his skin. The scabs that had formed were scoured away, left to swirl in the sterile porcelain sink. It was almost incomprehensible that it was his partner's blood he was washing away; Ziva's blood. He gritted his teeth against the breakdown he felt rapidly building, determined to hold it off until he was alone again. For once, his misery didn't crave company. Or alcohol, for that matter. The need to drown himself in vodka, though once his automatic coping mechanism, hadn't yet reared its ugly head. If Ziva needed him, he needed to be sober. That thought alone was convincing enough.

When his shirt was disposed of and the outermost layer of his skin had been scrubbed away, he pressed his back to the wall and let every weight on his shoulders push him to the floor. This time, when the tears came, he didn't stop them. He let them flow silently down his face, unafraid of whatever mold he was breaking by crying. There, alone, he couldn't have cared less what anyone thought of him. As far as he was concerned, he was the only person left on earth.

And Ziva. Ziva was there with him. Her smile, her laugh permeated even the smallest cracks of his mind, where he'd promised she'd never be. Ziva was like that, he knew. She invaded him, finding parts of himself he never thought he'd see again. There were corners in him… spaces that he probably would have left alone if not for her. Her face was there when he closed his eyes, wrinkling her nose in frustration and narrowing her eyes in annoyance. Both of which were, he knew, directed at him. It didn't escape him that he would kill for Ziva to be able to look at him like that again. When he didn't think he could stand any more her voice echoed in his ears, reminding him of things she'd said years before.

"_I am trying to protect you, Tony."_

He closed his eyes. Had it really been three years since they'd spent the day locked in that storage unit? It didn't feel like it. The words were there, though, occupying his thoughts. They joined Ziva's words from just an hour before.

"_Had to… or they would have killed you."_

It made sense now, he thought bitterly. They all knew Ziva wouldn't have just packed her bags and walked off without a word, but now they knew why. She went because they'd threatened her with his life… she'd gone to protect him, to save him. Part of him wanted to hate himself, to be mad at her for being ridiculous, but he knew that if the situation was reversed he would have done the same thing. He would have packed his bags and walked right out the front door, never to look back if it had been her life on the line instead of his own. Such was life, he thought, and such was love.

He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out Ziva's Star of David, weaving it through his fingers until the tiny pendant rested against his palm as he gripped it. The gold glittered against his skin and he held onto this tiny piece of her, wondering if he was going to get a chance to give it back to her. He'd already fixed the chain and the broken links… she would be happy for that, he knew.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the cool cinder block wall and sent up a prayer for Ziva. He assumed that the Jewish God was the same as the Catholic God he'd been raised to pray to, so he figured either way it would get to where it was going. Never before had his prayers been so desperate and wrought with grief, and he hoped that whatever God happened to get His hands on it, that He would listen.

Tony accepted a long time ago that he wouldn't be able to live without her. Without Ziva, the world was in plain black and white. With Ziva it was Technicolor… full of color and possibilities that they could explore together, testing the waters in a million different ways. He told himself everyday aboard the _Reagan _that the second he set foot on dry land, he'd tell Ziva everything. Everything he'd been meaning to tell her for years but never found the words.

That was easy to pledge, though, when he wasn't sure he'd ever set eyes on her again. Of course he did, though. He saw her again, in Cartagena. Gibbs was a really good excuse not to spill his guts that day, but what about every day since? He woke up everyday thinking about her and went to sleep the same way, but he'd kept his mouth shut for reasons that no longer made much sense.

A knock invaded his solitude and he jerked out of his reverie, realizing that whoever was on the other side of the door could have news about Ziva. He pulled himself off the floor and walked to the door, finding McGee on the other side. McGee held up a slate-gray shirt he knew was his, offering it to Tony.

"It was in the car," he said simply. "No telling how long it's been there."

Tony simply ducked his head, taking the hanger. "Ziva?"

"Nothing yet," McGee said. "Abby, Ducky, and Palmer just showed up. We're all out in the waiting room."

"Okay. I'll be out in a minute."

He closed the door on McGee but fully intended to keep to his word. Much more time alone and his mind would rip him to shreds; it was probably a better idea to go sit with everyone else. He set Ziva's necklace on the counter to pull the shirt on, taking time only to button it before he once again had the pendant in his hand. His thumb ran over it compulsively, as though it would make its owner reappear. It didn't work, however, and he turned to leave the bathroom. He walked back to the waiting room to join the confused and the bereaved, only to be somewhere in between.

He found McGee sitting next to Abby with his head in his hands while Abby compulsively pressed a tissue against her kohl-blackened eyes. Palmer sat on the other side of Abby, staring at his hands. Gibbs sat with Ducky on the other side of the large room with his hands folded neatly in his lap. Ducky was talking, as usual, but Tony doubted anyone was paying attention to whatever story he was telling. The two older men looked like waiting room veterans. As far as Tony was concerned, he'd be happy if he never saw another as long as he lived. He took a seat on the far wall, near a window, and went back to running his thumb over the Star of David.

"Any word yet?" he asked, hoping the question would divert their attention from the train wreck he was slowly turning into.

"They just took her into surgery," McGee answered when no one else offered information. "We'll know more soon."

"Is that all?"

"For now, yeah," McGee replied.

"Jesus," Tony sighed. He wasn't going to survive the wait, he decided. Too much was riding on what that doctor had to say, if he ever showed up.

Tony's hands shook. He couldn't do this.

"McGee," Gibbs said suddenly, his eyes trained on Tony, "Take Abby and Palmer outside. They need some air."

McGee didn't as much as blink. "Yes, boss."

Palmer looked confused when Abby and McGee stood to leave, but took Abby's hand anyway when she offered it.

"He wants privacy," Abby said to him as they exited the waiting room. "That means we get lost."

"I think I'll go with them," Ducky said, standing. "A little air sounds like a good idea. Of course you'll collect us if you hear anything."

Gibbs nodded. "Of course."

"I shall take my leave, then," Ducky said, walking out of the waiting room in search of the younger three that had just left.

Tony stared down at the necklace in his hands while Gibbs stared at him, deciding already that if Gibbs wanted to talk he was going to have to start it. Gibbs knew this, too, and wasn't tempted to make it harder on his senior agent. Still silent, he stood up from his chair and moved to sit beside the younger man. He folded his hands in his lap and stared at Tony, whose pain was written clear as day across his face. For a split second, Gibbs thought he was the younger of the two.

"She'll pull through," Gibbs said simply, hoping it would be enough to get Tony talking on his own.

"Yeah." It was all he said.

"She's tough."

Tony nodded. "I know."

Gibbs took his purposefully short replies to mean that getting answers was going to be like pulling teeth. If Tony wanted to be difficult, that was fine. Gibbs was only trying to make it easier; for both of them.

"How long?" The question was simple.

Tony ducked his head. "How long what?"

"You and Ziva," Gibbs replied, hoping it would be enough to spur Tony into an explanation. Instead, all he got was a slow shake of Tony's head.

"We're not like that, boss," he answered.

Gibbs sensed a catch. "But?"

"But I want to be," he said slowly, testing the words. It was the first time he'd ever said them out loud.

Gibbs nodded, knowing he would be having this conversation some day. He'd always hoped, though, that he wouldn't be having it in a hospital waiting room. He was almost betting on walking in on them in the elevator one of the nights they were all there late, and he'd been prepared for that discussion. This was one he'd been hoping he'd never have to think about.

"Does Ziva know?"

Tony shook his head. "No. It was never the right time." He gave a bitter laugh. "I never thought I wouldn't have the chance, you know? I was too busy working my way around to it."

"There's always time, DiNozzo," he said. "Rule number twelve aside."

Tony looked Gibbs in the eye.

"I'm going to break it," he seemed to warn. "Every day for the rest of my life if I--" he paused, choking back a sob that surprised them both, "If I get the chance."

"You'll get the chance," Gibbs said assuredly. "Ziva's going to be fine."

Tony nodded and wondered that those words were more comforting coming from Gibbs than coming from a doctor.

"That it?" Tony asked. "I expected more head-slapping or yelling."

Gibbs shrugged. "I knew it was going to happen someday," he said. "You two are like me and Jen were, once upon a time." A mournful smile turned the corners of his lips up. "Inevitable."

Tony stared at the necklace in his hands. "Ziva told me nothing's inevitable."

"This was."

"What about rule number twelve?" he asked. "Rules exist for a reason, remember?"

Gibbs took a moment to catch Tony's eye, staring him directly in the face. Tony knew whatever he was going to say was going to be incredibly important.

"You've got to start making your own rules, DiNozzo," he said slowly, "For your own reasons and your own beliefs. You can't keep mine forever."

Tony felt the ghost of a grin take over. He knew that this was the closest thing to a blessing he was ever going to get from Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"Thanks, boss," he said. "For everything."

Gibbs nodded in reply and went back to staring intently at the wall in front of him, leaving Tony to thoughts he wasn't sure he wanted to explore. Despite Gibbs' blessing, he was faced with the very real possibility that it wasn't going to matter. If Ziva never left that operating room, his life was over anyway. This thought was what he was stuck on when everyone else entered the room.

Lifetimes passed, it seemed, on either side of him. Gibbs and Ducky whispered an exchange that Tony couldn't make out while McGee and the autopsy gremlin took turns comforting Abby. They all seemed relatively content to leave him alone, and he wasn't complaining. He knew his family was around if he needed them, and that was comfort enough. His head was elsewhere, anyway. He wouldn't be much good to anyone.

Footsteps just in front of him took him by surprise. Tony's eyes rose to rest on a middle-aged man in ugly green scrubs. He looked around the room questioningly, holding a file in his hands. They all stared at him with anticipation before the man actually spoke.

"Tony DiNozzo?"


	19. Across the Universe

**Author's Note:**

**This chapter took a little longer to write because of finals and all that jazz. You know how it goes. I'm very sorry for making you all wait. Apparently I've been causing extreme emotional distress. lol So, without further adieu… Enjoy!**

**Chapter Nineteen**

"**Across the Universe"**

She couldn't open her eyes.

Ziva wasn't sure why, but her body wasn't reacting to the commands she gave it. She felt somehow disconnected from her body; miles away from it. It might as well have been across the universe for all the good it was doing her. Voices and noises surrounded her, whispering commands that she couldn't respond to. They were asking her to wake up, to open her eyes, but she was trying and she couldn't. Couldn't they see that? She was so tired, why couldn't they let her sleep? Maybe it was too much to ask for a little peace.

Something kept pulling at her, forcing her back down. Some instinct she hadn't realized she possessed grabbed a hold of her and wouldn't let her fight back. It dragged her along, though she had no idea where she was going. She felt something moving her but she no longer felt threatened by the sensations that weighed her down. Piece by piece, her body seemed to grow heavier. She was suddenly incredibly aware of every cell in her body as they clicked into place. Her mind wandered but soon came to rest, deciding that wherever she happened to be, it wasn't so bad.

"Hey! Her finger just moved," a voice cried out and invaded her small, dark world. Despite the unwanted intrusion, Ziva latched onto the voice. She knew it from somewhere.

"Ssh, Abigail," another voice said, quieting the other. It sounded like an older man; he had the slightest hint of an accent. Not American. "Not so loud or you'll wake every other patient on the floor."

"Sorry."

She knew these voices. Who were they? How did she know these people?

"Do you think she's waking up?"

Another voice was speaking; a younger man's, this time.

"Does it look like she's waking up to you?"

"No, boss."

God, it was killing her. No longer was the space in her head a welcome place; something bothered her about these voices. They were not her own, and yet they seemed to be close enough to reach out and touch. She grasped desperately at names, finding none to help her. She knew these people. She had to. Racking her brain had taken over every other conscious thought until the slightest and most unexpected whisper brought her crashing back to earth.

"Come on, Zee," it murmured. "Come back to us."

_Tony_, she sighed, coming finally to a name and a face that stole her breath from her. The voice was Tony. Tony was there with her, wherever "there" happened to be. It no longer seemed like such a good idea to stay where she was.

"Did you hear that?" the younger man asked. "She said your name."

McGee, she thought suddenly, missing the fact that they'd heard her. His name was McGee. Tony and McGee were there.

"Yeah," Tony said and she felt someone grab her hand. It was him, she knew it. She'd know his touch anywhere. "Ziva? It's me, I'm right here. Can you talk?"

Ziva laughed inside her head. She couldn't even get her brain to open her own eyes, much less talk. If this was what a coma felt like, she wanted no part of it.

But she wasn't in a coma, she didn't think. She apparently was doing something with her body to get their attention. Coma patients usually couldn't accomplish that kind of thing, or so she thought. Maybe they did, if she was lying in some bed talking from the expanse of nowhere in her head. She wondered if she was actually feeling the small circles Tony was tracing on the back of her hand or if it was something she was imagining.

"Ziva, we're all here," he said, his voice drifting back to her on a breeze. She no longer felt so far away. "When you wake up, we'll all be here."

She let out a long breath. For some reason, those words were a relief.

"I am here," she said, hoping the words would reach the man waiting outside of her. She wanted to wake up, to see him. "Tony, I am here." She didn't know if she'd managed to actually say the words, but she felt Tony grasp her hand a little harder.

"Ziva?" he said, sitting forward in his chair. He clasped her fingers neatly in his own.

"Mmm," she mumbled and Tony felt his heart leap into his throat. She seemed to be coming around; after two days under sedation it was nothing short of a miracle to hear her voice. He finally released the necklace he'd been clutching and let it fall into his pocket.

"Hey," he said, rubbing the back of her hand. He was oblivious to everyone else in the room. "We're here, Zee."

"Tony?" she said sleepily and finally opened her eyes. His breath caught in his chest to see the warm brown looking up at him with a mixture of exhaustion and confusion in her eyes.

"I'm here," he said and flashed a brilliant smile. Forgetting that everyone else was on the room with him, he brought her hand up to his lips. Her skin was cold against his. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

Ziva blinked. "What?"

"I said 'welcome back'," he repeated and delighted in the small smile that turned up the corner of her mouth. "How are you feeling?"

"Not my best," she said quietly before she caught the teary green eyes lined in black just a few inches in front of her. "Abby."

"Oh!" the forensic scientist cried and pushed Tony aside to hug Ziva. Tony took the interruption in stride; he wasn't the only one that loved her.

"Hello, Abby," Ziva said, wincing slightly when Abby pulled her into a fierce hug. "It is good to see you as well."

"Oh, Ziva," Abby said tearfully, sniffling a little. "I'm so happy to see you. I was so afraid I wouldn't get to. Like, ever again. You scared us all to death. I'm so happy you're okay."

"Am I?" Ziva asked, giving her friend her best attempt at a comforting smile when Ducky stepped forward from the background.

"Your wound gave us a little worry," he started, "But it appears the blade missed your major organs by fractions of an inch. I expect you'll be back to normal in the next few weeks. You're a lucky girl, my dear."

Ziva chuckled a little despite the dull but powerful ache in her side. "It does not feel that way, Ducky. But thank you."

"Hey, there," McGee said, appearing next to Abby to run a hand down her arm. "It's good to see you awake. Can we get you anything?"

Ziva shook her head. "No thank you, McGee. I am fine."

"Good," McGee replied and pulled Abby off the bed. "Give her some space, Abby. You're suffocating her."

"What a terrible thing to say," Abby said, mildly outraged. "I'm not suffocating her. I'm just happy that she's alive and talking to us. Is that okay with you, Timmy?"

"Abby, I just—"

"Cut it out, both of you," a sharp voice sounded from the back of the room and Ziva smiled to see Gibbs' face appear from the background. He stood at the end of her bed, and she had to lift her head a bit to see him. "How are you, David?"

Ziva nodded. "Fine," she said and studied the man's face. He seemed older somehow. She took a moment to recall her last moments of consciousness and stumbled upon Leslie's face and the sound of her laughter. Gibbs saw the question written on her face and answered before she had the chance to ask.

"She's in another hospital, in Intensive Care," he said. "Kenny's dead."

She narrowed her eyes, confused. "Leslie?"

Gibbs nodded. "Yep. Smashed his face into a back of the cocaine they'd been lacing with poison."

"She was manic, Gibbs," she said, looking the man in the eye. "Even when I was hitting her, she kept laughing at me. She just would not go down."

"I do not think this is the best discussion for the patient's recovery," Ducky chimed in. "You workaholics can discuss the case when Ziva is a little steadier on her feet."

Gibbs smiled in the way only he could, telling Ziva everything she needed to hear from him. She returned the smile and hoped he understood just how much it meant to her. Her eyes drifted around the room and finally landed on Tony, who resting his shoulder against the wall with a serene look on his face. She met his eyes and found a very peculiar expression there, but chose not to look into it for fear of what she could find in the man's eyes. For the moment, she happy to see him alive and that was enough.

"How long has it been?" she asked to no one in particular, giving into the yawn creeping up her throat. She wasn't exactly surprised when Abby piped up.

"Two days now," Abby said. "They kept you under sedation so your body could start healing and could get the remainder of the cyanide out of your system."

"So I was being poisoned, then?" she asked, confirming her suspicions when Abby nodded. "I thought I might have been. My escape obviously did not go as well as planned."

"You're okay, though," McGee said. "That's all that matters."

Ziva nodded and found herself yawning again. Her eyelids were getting heavier and she knew it wouldn't be long until she had passed out again.

"I know I have been asleep for some time now, but I am afraid I might be falling asleep again very soon," she said as politely as she could. Nothing meant more to her than waking up to find all of them there with her, but she didn't think they wanted to wait around while she slept. "I suppose the drugs they have me on are designed for that, yes?"

Ducky nodded. "Very much so. I am surprised you've been conscious enough to hold this much conversation," he said. "Just a testament to how strong you are, I believe."

She found herself smiling. "Thank you. All of you," she said. "I was afraid you would think I left on my own."

McGee shook his head. "Not a chance."

"How could we think that?" Abby asked incredulously. "You're family to us, Ziva! Family doesn't take off like that, no matter what happens and no matter what anyone says."

She had smiled and was about to agree when a small blonde nurse poked her head in the room.

"Visiting hours are officially over," she said with a kind smile. "Ms. David needs her rest right now. You're more than welcome to come back first thing in the morning."

"Oh, one more hour. Please," Abby cried.

"I gave you one more hour two hours ago if I remember correctly," she laughed and winked at Ziva, earning a smile. "I promise we'll take good care of her. She'll be a lot more up to company tomorrow."

Everyone in the room looked to Ziva for confirmation, and she could only give them a small smile when the nurse exited the room to give them a chance to say goodbye.

"I am so glad you all came," she said. "I promise to be better company tomorrow if you decide to come again."

"Of course we'll be here," Abby said. "You get some more beauty sleep and tomorrow I'll bring you a ton of cupcakes. It'll be a welcome back present. And I'll bring flowers. Do you like flowers?"

Ziva laughed. "Your presence is more than enough, Abby."

"Oh, I've missed you so much," she said, pulling her into an embrace that Ziva lovingly returned. "I'll see you first thing tomorrow, okay? I'll come by on my way to work."

"That is fine, Abby," she said and smiled at McGee as he leaned over to give her a tentative hug.

"Be careful, okay?" he said. "No escaping the hospital, and no beating up the nurses."

Ziva laughed. "Of course not. Goodbye, McGee."

"Get your rest," Ducky said, stepping forward. "I mean that. We'll see you back at the navy yard in no time."

"I look forward to it," she replied and smiled at Ducky as he ushered Abby and McGee out of her room. She listened to their steps fade down the hallway before turning to find Gibbs' mildly amused face smiling at her.

"Take care of yourself, Ziva," he said, fixing her with a look that she correctly interpreted as an order. "I want you back at work soon."

"Yes, Gibbs," she said and stared in confusion when he sent Tony a strange look before exiting the room. She felt her blood pressure rise; it was her and Tony now, and she was at a loss for every word she would have given a lifetime to say to him a few days before.

He remained leaning against the wall, staring at her in a way she felt should be meaningful. A days' growth of beard darkened his jaw and his hair was unkempt for probably one of the first times in his life, leading Ziva to believe he'd been through a little more than she'd thought at first. Instantly concern darkened her eyes and she felt herself wanting to crawl out of her bed and take him into her arms. All of a sudden, sleep was the last thing on her mind.

"Are you okay?" she asked, alert. "You look terrible."

Tony didn't even smile. "I haven't gone home in a few days," he said simply, expecting that to be explanation enough for her.

"You should get some sleep," she said awkwardly, nervous under the weight of his stare. "You must be exhausted."

"I was," he said, finally moving from his spot against the wall. He took his place in the chair beside the bed before sticking a hand in his pocket. Ziva watched him pull out a piece of glittering gold and hold it in front of her to spin a bit.

"My necklace," she said, taking the fragile Star of David into her hands. "You fixed it."

"I thought you'd want it when we found you," he said, watching her hold the small pendant in her palm.

"You saw it, then?" she asked. "You saw your movie?"

"I did," he answered, pulling his chair closer to her. "It took me a little while, but I found it. It was a smart move."

"I do not seem to have many of those left," she said, giving a dry laugh. "It should not have taken me so long to escape as it did."

"You did what you had to do," he said and watched as she rolled tentatively onto her side to face him. He saw her wince at the movement and instantly reached out to steady her, grasping her forearm in his hand.

"Careful. Don't tear your stitches."

"It is fine," she said, curling her legs. "My muscles are a bit stiff."

"Yeah," he said. "The doctor said they would be when you woke up. You scared us for a little while."

Ziva frowned. "How?"

"You were supposed to wake up sometime yesterday," he explained. "They didn't know why, but you stayed under."

She nodded. "How are you?" she asked, choosing not to mention the brief episode in her head from minutes earlier. "You are not hurt?"

Tony shook his head. "No. Not a scratch."

"Good," she said, breathing a sigh of relief. "I thought… they lied to me, and I believed them. I am sorry."

"So it's true, then," he said, leaning his forearms against the side of her bed. "What you told me out at the cabin?"

"I do not know," she said. "I do not remember what I told you."

"That you left with them because," he paused, trying to find the right words, "Because they would have killed me."

She closed her eyes, basking in the sudden fear and grief that washed over her in the memory. Thinking Tony was dead had changed her completely, for a short time; enough to turn her back into the Mossad-trained killer she was raised to be. Her rage was a security blanket, and violence was her coping mechanism. Part of her wondered if she would be able to get back to having him so close to her.

"It is true," she said slowly. "I could not risk your life for my escape."

He pressed his lips into a thin line and said nothing, content instead to bring his hand up to cup her face. She unconsciously leaned into his touch, unbearably happy that she had the chance to spend this time with him. His hand left her face and traveled into her hair, pushing it away from her face to get a better look at her. Reveling in this opportunity to touch her, he rubbed a thumb slowly across her brow. He loved that she had yet to break his hand.

"I don't know what I would've done," he heard himself say before trailing off.

Ziva caught his eyes and saw the agony in them. "If?"

"If I'd lost you," he said and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss against her forehead. She looked up at him, mildly surprised at this sudden tenderness from the man always ready with a crude joke if he had an excuse.

"But I am here," she said simply, knowing it wasn't the best response. Words were never something she found easily, particularly in situations such as these when what you said meant everything.

"You are," he said. "There's something I promised myself I would tell you if I got the chance…"

She frowned. "What is it, Tony?"

"I know my timing isn't the best, Zee, but--"

"This is strike three," the same nurse said, bustling into the room and interrupting the biggest moment of Tony's life to date. "She'll have to see you tomorrow, Mr. DiNozzo. She needs her rest."

"Just another minute," he practically begged, unsure if he would have the guts to say what he needed to say the next time he came into the hospital.

"You haven't gone home yet. It's been two days now," the nurse argued. "She's awake, she's fine, and so I want you to go home right this minute. I'll make sure you're let into her room first thing tomorrow morning."

Tony let his head hang. "Yeah, I'll be out in a second."

The nurse simply jutted out a hip. "Now."

"Yeah, fine," he grumbled, exceedingly angry that he'd once again missed his chance with her. He turned to Ziva, who regarded him with questioning eyes. "I'll be back tomorrow morning, okay? Do you need me to bring you anything?"

Ziva considered the question but shook her head. "I cannot think of anything."

"Okay," he said and ran his hand over her hair. "Get some rest. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight," she said, watching him walk out of the room with a glare on his face aimed in the direction of the nurse who had ordered him out. When he was gone, Ziva turned to face the nurse.

"He hasn't left you, you know," the nurse said, coming to stand next to her. "He's been here since the minute you came out of surgery; he didn't leave for a second. The older man threatened him some but he wouldn't budge."

"Really?"

"Really," the nurse replied. "I wouldn't have forced him out just now if he hadn't looked so bad, but I don't guess I can blame him. He cares about you. You're very lucky."

Ziva couldn't help the small smile that turned up the corner of her lip.

"I am."


	20. Now or Never Pt I

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, this is the first part of the final chapter. I was writing it and it turned into another mega-chapter that would have stretched on forever. I figured two parts was just as good as one, if not better. It means I can do more. I don't suppose anyone will be complaining.**

**Chapter Twenty**

"**Now or Never Pt. I"**

Tony roughly hit the elevator button that would take him to the parking garage and ran his fingers across his scalp in frustration. Part of him wanted to lash out, but he knew it wasn't going to do him any good. He was too tired, anyway. Instead he cursed under his breath and marched out of the elevator when its doors opened to release him into the dank underground parking structure. He had a bit of trouble remembering where he parked his car, but the Mustang was hard to miss against the backdrop of every other darker colored sedan that surrounded it. The paint gleamed against the harsh fluorescents but as he got closer, he found that his car wasn't alone.

"I thought they might kick you out tonight," McGee said, putting his hands in his pockets. "I sent Abby back with Gibbs, in case you showed up."

"Go home, McStalker," he said, pulling his keys out of his pocket. "I'm tired and I'm not exactly in the best mood."

"I didn't think you would be," McGee replied, standing up straighter. "That's why I stuck around; to see if you needed anything."

"Well, I don't," he said. "Now get off my car. You'll mess up the paint."

McGee took his aggression in stride. "Did you tell her?"

"Tell who what?" Tony asked irritably.

"Did you tell Ziva that you loved her?" he clarified, looking hard at Tony to discern a reaction. If he had to guess, anger would have been the first to manifest itself. Instead, Tony simply hung his head and fiddled with the keys in his hand.

"Buzz off, probie," he said softly. "If this is the inspiration for Thom E. Gemcity's next novel, you can forget about it. I'm not saying a damn thing."

McGee's face hardened, surprising Tony. "Ziva is my friend. I'm not going to exploit what she went through to sell books."

Tony said nothing.

"Why would you even think that of me?" McGee asked heatedly. "And why do you shove me off with a smart remark every time I try to be a good friend to you?"

He blinked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You'll have a civilized conversation with Gibbs without a second thought, but when I try to talk to you about something serious you make fun of or treat me like a two-year-old," he said. "I'm not blind, Tony. I can see what you're going through. But if you're going to get pissed off every time I try to help, I'm going to stop trying."

"Jesus, McGee," Tony said incredulously. "Where did all this come from?"

"I'm just trying to help," he said without really answering the question. He started walking away and called back over his shoulder. "Forget I said anything."

"No, probie, stop," Tony said, feeling instantly guilty because he knew that McGee had a point. He let his hands fall to his sides when McGee complied. "Come back over here."

McGee did so and stood in front of him. "What?"

"I'm sorry," he said and meant it. "It's just… I get a little carried away with myself sometimes."

"Yeah, no kidding," he said, though his tone wasn't light. "I'm usually the one that it gets taken out on."

"I'm sorry for that, too," Tony admitted. "It's just… you're a probie, and I don't mean that in a bad way. But you're supposed to look up to me, you know? I'm your role model. You shouldn't have to keep me together."

The harsh expression on McGee's face slowly melted away.

"You're serious?"

Tony nodded. "Yeah."

"Tony, you don't have to be some kind of tough guy all the time," he said. "It's okay to lean on people every now and then. It's good, even. And you know you have all of us to be here for you."

"I know," he said and cleared his throat. "Anyway, I'm sorry."

"You didn't answer my question," McGee said, accepting Tony's apology with a devilish grin. "Did you tell her?"

"Think about it," Tony said. "If I'd managed to pull something like that off, I'd be a lot happier right now."

"Ah," McGee said, nodding. "You can't win them all, I guess. There's always tomorrow."

"Yeah, that's what I've been saying for years now," he said, his voice dropping. "I didn't realize until a few days ago that there might not be a tomorrow to rely on."

McGee ducked his head. "I'm sorry, Tony. I can't imagine what this must be like for you."

"Thank you, probie," he said. "But it's not really about me. We should all be more concerned with Ziva. She's the one that's up there in a hospital bed. And anyway, I've got to give myself a chance to find the right words."

"Right," McGee said, laughing. "You've got nothing but the right words. You always have."

"Not when it comes to her," he replied. "Never when it comes to her. I always seem to find a way to get her madder at me than when I started. I can't afford that this time, though. It has to be perfect."

"Are you nervous?"

"I wish I was only nervous. I'm practically sweating bullets," he confirmed. "They don't exactly right how-to tips on sweeping an Israeli super assassin off her feet. I'm in uncharted territory on this one, probie." He laughed. "I tried to do it just now, after you all left, but the damn nurse came in and threw me off."

McGee chuckled. "You have a thing for bad timing."

"I've noticed," Tony replied. "I'm trying not to take the pattern philosophically."

"You'll do fine," he said with an assuring smile.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he said. "Maybe it'll be enough for the both of us."

"Why are you so nervous?" McGee asked. "Other than the obvious reasons, of course. It's not like you."

"Feelings can be one-sided," he answered, shrugging. "I don't think I could stand pouring my heart out to her only to hear the 'we can be friends' speech. There would be no going back to the way it was."

"I don't think that's honestly an issue, Tony," he assured. "I don't think Ziva would have risked her life by going with a murderer without a fight to save the life of someone she was ambivalent about."

"She's my partner," Tony argued. "We're supposed to look out for each other. What she did could fall under that category."

McGee shook his head. "I don't think so. I've been watching you two too long to believe that."

"What are you talking about?"

"Think about it," McGee prompted. "What I write about in my books is basically a sensationalized version of what we go through on a daily basis. When it comes down to it, I don't have all that much imagination."

"No kidding," he said. "I've seen your tie collection."

McGee scowled. "Funny. What I meant was that everything I wrote between Tommy and Lisa were what I was watching between you and Ziva every day," he said. "Every word, every look I got from you two. Nothing was mine."

"You make a good argument," Tony said. "I guess it's supposed to make me feel better."

"Supposed to," McGee agreed. "But knowing you, I doubt it'll do much in the long run."

Tony laughed. "You're probably right," he said and looked at the man standing in front of him. "You are a good friend, McGee. I should start giving you more of a chance to act like one."

"Thank you," he said, a proud smile lighting up his face.

"We don't have to hug, do we?" Tony joked, taking temporary solace in the sound of their laughter in the otherwise deserted parking lot.

"Not if you don't want to."

"I don't."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ziva walked through the front door of her apartment, her keys gripped tightly in her hand. Her instincts told her she was alone but she relaxed only a fraction. Since leaving the hospital a few minutes before, she was a little on edge. She'd declined Palmer's offer to help her inside with a polite smile and a promise to cook him dinner the following week. She was strangely thankful to find the apartment dark and silent and completely hers. Abby told her she'd been by to clean a few days before, and Ziva smelled the tiniest hint of an air freshener.

She set the bag Tony had packed for her on the floor next to the couch while she took the time to admire her home. It was the first time in two weeks that she'd been back to it, and she didn't mind admitting that she'd missed the small living space she'd made her own. Everything was exactly as she'd left it, save for the tons of black roses Abby had situated around the room. They weren't exactly her taste, but she appreciated the gesture behind them. She would have to thank Abby later.

By the time she'd walked her way around the apartment, the couch was sounding more and more like a great idea. Despite the fact that she healed quickly, the pain medication the doctor had left her with seemed to wipe her out completely. The stitches in her side were healing satisfactorily and she had been released early, though only on the understanding that there would be no strenuous activity to tear the stitches and that she would get plenty of rest to help her body keep up with her demands. Palmer had picked her up from the hospital that afternoon, seeing as he was the only one available for the task. Tony was supposed to, but they'd gotten slammed with a case a few days before. Tony was currently somewhere in Maryland, hunting down a Marine corporal's killer. He'd left her with a sheepish smile and a promise to call her when he got the chance.

They hadn't had a moment's peace since she woke up almost a week before. Someone was always in her room, which was fine, except that Tony had yet to get a chance to finish what he'd started telling her that night in her room. Not knowing had begun to slowly eat away at her, making her restless. They had yet to find a moment alone, and then the case happened and they were all on the road to Maryland. She hadn't dared guess what it was he wanted to say to her, for fear that it would be something completely different and the disappointment would kill her. So, for the moment, she vowed to get it out of her head. She would enjoy her time alone, and leave it at that.

Never mind the fact that the bag Tony had packed her was full of his clothes. She understood the necessity—most of her clothes had disappeared along with her—but she hadn't expected him to be so giving with his own wardrobe. The idea appealed to her, however, and she found herself changing into the giant Ohio State sweatshirt that was at the top of the bag. It smelled like some expensive cologne that Tony favored, and then the subtle scent below the cologne that could only be his. She pulled it over her head and decided that if she had to be alone, she could at least have a piece of him with her.

Well, she wasn't completely alone. Abby and Palmer checked in on her occasionally, but Gibbs and the rest of the team had taken off. She got text messages every now and then from both Tony and McGee asking if she was okay, but even they had subsided in the last two days. She supposed that meant Gibbs had them both strung out on caffeine and looking for answers. She smiled a bit at the thought and wished she could be there with them. Her stitches would be coming out in two weeks, though, and after that she was more than welcome back at work.

Until then, she was on her own. So, to pass the time she had to herself, she cooked. It didn't surprise her that Italian food had sounded the best, so she spent the night making an intricate pasta dish that she would be enjoying alone. Whereas normally she would be running at this time, her workouts were no longer permitted. Instead she curled up on one end of her couch and turned on the TV, contenting herself in the dull droning of a news reporter until even that couldn't be tolerated. After she'd found that TV wouldn't be working out, she turned on the stereo and let herself get swept up in the dulcet piano that penetrated the air.

Just before the climax of the song, however, a sharp blast penetrated the calm. Her adrenaline instantly spiked, only to realize it was for nothing. It was her phone, ringing from the table next to her. She paused the music and got up to find it, expecting the caller ID to read "Abby" or "Palmer." Instead, it read "Tony DiNozzo." She opened the phone with a smile.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," the familiar voice said and she reveled in its warmth. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, now that I am home," she said. "Are you still in Maryland?"

"We're on our way back now," he said and she bottled up the excitement she felt that the idea that they would finally have their moment alone. "I would have called you earlier, but McUseless decided to get himself taken hostage in a warehouse with our guy. Took up a good two hours that we could have been here instead."

Ziva's eyes bulged. "Is he okay?"

"Oh, he's fine," Tony said. "A little singed around the edges, but he's okay."

Ziva was about to comment when she heard another voice argue from the background.

"Give me the phone!"

"Back off, probie, or you'll lose a hand," Tony ordered and Ziva listened to the sudden struggle from across the line. She wasn't sure of who would win until a voice came from the phone.

"Ziva?"

"Hello, McGee," she said. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Tony neglected to mention the fact that I also subdued and disarmed the suspect before anyone could get hurt. _Gibbs _even told me good job." He cleared his throat. "I thought I would tell you."

"Very good," she said and gave into the laughter that she felt building up. "I am proud of you."

"Thank you, Ziva," he said smugly. "Okay, here's Tony."

A pause and muted threats came over the line and Ziva smiled at the familiarity. She couldn't wait to be a part of it again.

"It's me," Tony said. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Right now, nothing," she said honestly. "I am going crazy with nothing to do, but it does not seem I have a choice in the matter."

"You're right, you don't," he said. "Your doctor—and Ducky and Gibbs, for that matter—said no strenuous activity. Working for Gibbs means no avoiding that kind of thing. It's part of the job description."

"Yes, I have noticed."

"Anyway," he said, "I'll be getting back to D.C. in the next two hours or so, but you should be asleep by then anyway. I'll come bug you in the morning."

"I will be awake for some time, Tony," she said. "I have been sleeping so much the last week that I do not feel I will need sleep for the next month."

"You should, anyway," he said. "Take it easy tonight and I'll see you tomorrow. I'll probably be at the office doing paperwork for the next few hours, anyway."

"Fine," she said. "I will see you tomorrow, then."

"Goodnight," he said and she snapped the phone shut.

It appears they wouldn't be getting their conversation that night, after all.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"How is she holding up?" McGee asked, staring out the dark window.

"She sounds okay," he said. "I'll run by and check on her in the morning, though. I hate the thought of her being alone in that apartment."

McGee laughed. "How overprotective of you."

"Shut it," he said. "She disappeared from that apartment, and now she's there alone. It's not that much of a leap for me to be worried. Besides, what if we were wrong about the accomplice? What if we just hadn't found him yet?"

"There was no accomplice, Tony," he said slowly. "The gunshots she heard were recorded on his phone, and all the times Ziva remembered him talking to the other guy there were no calls made according to his call log. She couldn't even hear him on the other line. It's pretty convincing stuff."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "But it's her first night back and she's probably a little freaked out."

McGee raised an eyebrow. "Ziva, freaked out?"

"Okay, fine. I'm freaked out," he admitted. "And she's not a robot, probie. She can be freaked out just as easily as the rest of us."

"True," he allowed. "But she usually isn't. And if you're that worried, go see her tonight when we get back. I doubt Gibbs would make that big of a deal about it."

"She should be resting, not entertaining my nervous breakdown," Tony said. "I told her I'd see her in the morning."

"Then just drive by," McGee offered. "Check that she's okay, and then come back to the navy yard. That way you'll know she's fine and you'll get your work done."

Tony considered it. "Good idea, probie. We just have to hope she doesn't find me spying and break my legs."


	21. Now or Never Pt II

**Author's Note:**

**Sigh… the final chapter. It didn't seem too long ago that I got the idea for this story. How sentimental am I?**

**But I hope you've all enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I've loved hearing feedback from everyone, and I hope to hear from you all again when I start posting chapters to the sequel. (Yes… sequel. I couldn't help myself.)**

**So… here it is. **

**Chapter Twenty-One**

"**Now or Never Pt. II"**

It was just after midnight, and Ziva wasn't any closer to falling asleep than she had been two hours before when she'd gone to bed. Surprisingly, for once, the pain killers she'd been prescribed weren't knocking her on her feet. She was hardly drowsy, but she had a good idea what could put her quickly to sleep. It was a guilty and feminine pleasure, but something told her it would be exactly what she needed.

By the time the water was filled to the brim of the bathtub and her special bath salts had been added to the mix, she was all too ready to climb in and relax. She stepped out of her clothing and put one foot in the heavenly water, moaning at its soothing heat. The other foot came next, and then her legs as she kneeled into the water. She slid down the length of the tub and her waist felt the water's heat. Before she had a chance to think any differently, the previously comfortable water hit the four inch gash on her stomach and she instantly reeled from the blinding pain. The skin was still incredibly sensitive, apparently, and didn't handle the heat well. She lifted herself out of the tub and reached down to let the tub drain. Her hot bath was out of the question.

Instead, she ran a lukewarm sink full of water and washed her hair in hopes that it would be enough to calm her system down and help her fall asleep. After all, Tony would be over in the morning and she wanted to be able to greet him without bags under her eyes. He'd know she didn't sleep and she'd have to hear about it; she loved his concern, but found it mildly irritating after it after the comfort of it wore off. Since Tony had been much more affectionate in the last week, she wondered if it was going to be something she had to get used to. If, of course, it lasted. She would understand if Tony was being nicer because she'd been through a lot, but didn't know if there was more behind it. If there could be, even. Just because she cared for him didn't mean it worked both ways.

She left all the lights in the apartment off as she moved around, more comfortable in the dark than she had been in all the glaring lights. It only took a few minutes rummaging around in the kitchen to decide that it wasn't food she wanted. The TV and the stereo both sounded annoying, and so she ended up sprawling across the couch like she had a few hours before. She didn't know why she just didn't go back to bed; laying there would have been just as convenient.

Lights flashed just outside the window and illuminated the room; probably traffic from her street. She got up from the couch and walked to the window, pulling the blinds apart to stare down at what she thought would be a deserted city street. Instead, she found a very familiar car parked at the curb. The driver was missing, but she had a feeling he wasn't that far away. Her eyes searched the street and found no one before they finally rested on a bench across the street. Someone was sitting there, drinking from a large mug and staring up at her window. She thought it was either Tony or a stalker, both of which could be easily handled by going downstairs.

She pulled Tony's sweater over her head and put on a pair of sandals before she walked out of her apartment, not bothering to lock it behind her. Taking the steps carefully to mind her stitches, she walked out the front door of her building expecting to find Tony waiting just outside it. She didn't, however, and continued walking in the direction of the bench on the opposite side of the street. When she got close enough, she realized that it was Tony sitting on the bench and not someone she had to worry about. He finally caught her eyes and his widened, unsure of what her reaction would be to find him sitting outside her apartment so late at night.

"Hello, Tony," she said after crossing the street and coming to stand in front of him. Despite the cold air, he had thrown his jacket across the back of the bench and had removed his tie. The plain black shirt he still wore was rolled up to his elbows, letting Ziva's eyes wander up the smooth expanse of muscle on his forearms.

Tony gulped, ignorant of her stare, but took the time to notice that she was wearing his shirt. Her dark hair hung, dark and damp, down her shoulders and he found his mouth suddenly dry. He didn't think he'd ever seen a woman more beautiful. Or, for that matter, one that made him more nervous.

"Uh, hey."

She moved to take a seat next to him and took the large coffee mug from his hands, stealing a long drink that drove off the slight chill in the air.

"I did not think you were coming over tonight," she observed, staring out into the street.

"Gibbs released us early," he explained. "I wanted to drop by but I didn't know if you would be awake."

She raised an eyebrow. "So you sit outside my apartment?"

He shrugged. "It made sense at the time. And this was the closest I thought I could get without you breaking my legs for spying."

"I would not have broken your legs," she said coyly. "Perhaps a finger or two, but not your legs."

"Thanks, that's good to know," he said and took his coffee back from her. "You're still feeling okay? How are the stitches healing?"

"Slowly," she said, not bothering to mask her annoyance. "I could not even take a bath tonight."

"That's because your baths are always just a few degrees above boiling," he said. "They specifically told you lukewarm at the hospital, if I remember correctly."

"Whatever," she mumbled. She wanted to bring up their earlier attempts at a conversation, but she couldn't find the words that wouldn't put him instantly on his guard. Instead, she settled for an inane question to fill the silence. "How was Maryland?"

"Uneventful, save for the hostage situation," he said, laughing. "And when we were driving back, I got McGee good."

"What did you do to him?"

"He was leaning forward, trying to tie his shoe," he started, barely able to contain his giggles as he recounted the story, "And I hit the brakes hard enough to slam his forehead against the dashboard."

"Tony!" Ziva cried. "You did not kill him, did you?"

"Psh, no," Tony responded, scoffing. "We weren't going more than thirty miles an hour, anyway. I'll be surprised if he has a bruise. It was just funny."

"You are terrible," she said, smiling. "Truly terrible."

"You like that about me," he said, looking down at her. "Right?"

"Very much so, I am afraid," she said, looking back up at him. He had a look on his face that seemed to be screaming something she couldn't understand, and she could hardly remember seeing him in such a way. Part of her worried, but the other part had her stomach fluttering in a million different ways. She didn't know which she should be more concerned about.

"It's good, being together like this," Tony started, interrupting the heavy silence they'd let themselves fall into. "A few days ago, I thought I wouldn't have the chance again."

Ziva's head dropped. "That makes two of us."

"I really hate that we fought," he said, referring to the last time they'd seen each other before she disappeared. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I hurt you as well," she said. "And for that, I am sorry."

"I usually hate apologizing," he laughed, albeit nervously. "Gibbs' influence and all that. But I think it's good this time. I've been dying to get that off my chest."

Her heart fell. "That is what you were going to say to me the other night, yes?" she asked. "In my hospital room?"

Tony stared at the mug in his hands. Ziva had given him a chance and a choice to make, and the decision he made at that particular moment would affect the rest of his life. He could choose to affirm her suspicions and say that an apology was all he had in mind when it was much further down his list, or he could tell her the truth: That he loved her, and that he had for some time.

_It's now or never, DiNozzo, _he thought as he looked over at amazing woman next to him. _After this, you're out of excuses._

He took a deep breath.

"No," he said, surprising them both. "That's not what I wanted to say to you that night. That's not what I want to say to you now, even."

Ziva looked up. "Then what was it? I have been curious all week but we never seemed to have a moment alone."

"I've noticed," he said. "It happens that way, I guess."

She saw the nerves on his face and couldn't begin to guess what it was that he was keeping locked up so tight. It was a wonder he hadn't collapsed under the pressure.

"Tony," she said, placing her hand on his arm, "Whatever this is, you can tell me. I am right here."

"I know," he said and laughed. "I wanted this to be a bigger deal, you know? I always thought it would take an act of nature to get me here, but here I am. On a bench in the middle of night wondering if the next few minutes are going to change my life."

Ziva frowned. "I do not know what you mean."

"I'm not sure I do either," he said, turning to face her on the small bench. "I'm not sure what anything means anymore, but I think that could finally be something good."

"Tony, you are confusing me," Ziva said quietly.

He stared at her in the moonlight and saw the subtle questions written on her face; he'd never been surer of anything in his life as he was about the way he loved her.

Ziva watched his eyes darken in the cool light from the streetlamps and wondered for the millionth time in the last week what was going through his head. It was this question that plagued her as he took her face gently into her hands and tilted her chin up to meet him, his lips covering hers so softly that she had to wonder if it was really happening. This kiss was nothing like the first they'd shared all those years ago in the hotel room; the nervous excitement had gone completely, leaving in its place tenderness and a totally overwhelming passion that surprised them both with its subtle but distinct flavor. Ziva couldn't remember feeling more wanted in her entire life than she did in those few moments, with him on a bench in front of her apartment. Her hands gripped the front of his shirt in a fervent attempt to bring him closer, only to have him pull away.

"I love you," he said breathlessly against her lips, keeping her face in his hands. "More than I'll ever be able to tell you."

Ziva nodded, staring up at him. "You are doing well so far."

He laughed, pulling her against him again. This time his kiss took on the distinctive and biting edge of the unrelenting desire that had been building steadily between them for three years. The regret he felt for every moment that he wanted to hold but didn't was now pouring out of him in waves, rendering her completely breathless and shaking in his arms. His lips pressed eagerly against her own, leaving her only to surrender to him. Her chin tilted a little farther up, allowing him the access he'd been craving. His tongue took hers in one stunning sweep and she let him take from her, knowing there was much more he could say this way than he could ever say out loud.

Tony relinquished his hold on her only when the need for air had outweighed his desire for her, and even then he instantly missed the feel of her lips against his. Ziva stared back at him, unsure of what the last minute would do to the rest of their lives. Surprisingly, she felt immense satisfaction rather than the outright terror that usually accompanied these situations. Neither of them said a word; for two people who usually had more problems staying quiet than speaking up, they were unusually silent. Tony kept his fingers running through her hair, unspeakably happy that he had the ability to do so.

"You're not saying much," he pointed out nervously. His earlier conversation with McGee came to mind. "I know this is a lot to handle, but I couldn't walk around with this anymore. And it's okay, you know, if you don't feel the same way about me right now. Or at all. I understand. I know I haven't always been nice to you, or understanding, but I do care about you and as soon as I start figuring out a better way of showing it—"

"Tony," Ziva interrupted, an amused smile gracing her lips.

"—I'll start doing that, you know, and—"

"Tony!" she yelled and shocked him out of his rambling. "Will you be quiet long enough for me to tell you that I love you as well?"

He blinked. "You do?"

She nodded and he laughed, kissing her again.

"Thank you," he said before he could contemplate a better way of conveying the emotion careening through him.

The phrase made Ziva laugh. "For what?"

"For being here, for putting up with me," he said, keeping her close. "For never letting me get too full of myself and reminding me that I'm only human."

"You are only human," she said. "And so am I, which made it rather hard for me to resist you all these years."

Tony smiled unabashedly, a laugh glittering in the air between them.

"I knew it," he said. "I knew you'd fall for me eventually."

"Did you?" she asked skeptically. "How could you possibly?"

He shrugged. "It was all the little things."

Ziva raised an eyebrow.

"You know, you staring at me when you thought I was wasn't looking," he started, "Saying things to purposefully make me jealous. Asking random little questions that you didn't think I would get, like the whole soul mate thing."

"I am impressed," she said. "And here I have been thinking that you were just a dull instrument."

"Blunt, Ziva," he said. "And I'm a lot smarter than you give me credit for."

"So I have noticed," she said, laughing. "Well, I do not think I can continue to taunt you if you have me figured out so thoroughly."

"That's right," he replied smugly. "I'm the senior field agent, you know. I'm supposed to figure this stuff out."

"Very good," she said, winding her hand around the back of his neck to pull him down to her. "It is no wonder I feel for you the way I do."

"Because I'm a senior field agent?"

"No," she said, laughing. "Because you never cease to surprise me."

"Never will, either," he said. "I plan on surprising you every day for a long, long time. If that's okay with you, of course."

Ziva pretended to consider the question. "I suppose I can adjust."

"I was hoping you'd say that," he said, sliding his lips over hers. "Does this mean you're not going to break my fingers for staking out your apartment?"

"Not tonight," she said and lowered her voice to a seductive purr. "I have much more creative plans for them."

Tony sucked in an excruciating breath.

"God, I forget sometimes how good you are at that," he said, staring down at her. "And it's not fair."

"What is not fair?" she asked, confused.

"Your stitches don't come out for another two weeks," he said.

"So what?"

"The doctor said no strenuous activity," he reminded and the corner of his lip turned up in a daring smirk. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "And what I have planned for you is very, _very _strenuous."

This time, it was Ziva's turn to gasp.

"I cannot wait that long," she said, running her hands down his chest and making his breath catch before catching his jaw in a quick kiss. "Have we not waited long enough?"

"Exactly," he said, running a hand absently down her arm. "What's two more weeks? We can do it."

"Ugh," Ziva groaned. "Do not say 'do it'."

Tony laughed. "It'll be okay. Until then, you'll just have to put up with me at my romantic best. Breakfast in bed, candlelight dinners—the works."

"I do not need all those things, Tony," she said, shaking her head. "I just need you."

"I know you don't need them," he said, helpless against the smile that seemed to have plastered itself across his face. "But I want to. Let me."

She considered the request and nodded her head.

"Fine."

He pulled her close and brushed his lips across her forehead before leaning in for another earth-shattering kiss.

"I love you," he murmured, meaning it even more then than he had the last time he'd said it.

"I love you, too," Ziva replied and curled against him. The more she thought about it, the more she realized she was exactly where she belonged.

**END**


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